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PACKET. 


THE SEALED 


NO YEL. 


BY r ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE. 

« • 

AUTHOR OP “GARSTANG GRANGE,” “GEMMA; A TALE OF LOVE AND JEALOUSY,” “ BEPPO, 
THE CONSCRIPT,” “ MARIETTA ; OR, LIFE IN TUSCANY,” “ DREAM NUMBERS,” 
“.LEONORA ctsALONI ; OR, THE MARRIAGE SECRET,” ETC., ETC. 



Among the issues of new works which reach us from the press of T. B. Peterson & Bro- 
thers, we have novels of real merit. Pre-eminently such are the novels of T. Adol- 
phus Trollope. Several of these have already been published by the Petersons’, and 
have gained a great popularity. Mr. T. Adolphus Trollope is a man of decided ability, 
who writes carefully and well. His stories generally deal with Italians and Italian 
manners — the author having long resided in Italy, and have all the faithful minute- 
ness of description which characterizes Anthony Trollope’s studies of English curates 
and their admirers. In his Italian novels he is practically \vithont a competitor, as he 
always has a well-constructed plot, and develops it skilfully. His characters are 
drawn with marked individuality, and are remarkably true to life. The Sealed Packet, 
all things considered, is an excellent novel, and is perhaps the author’s best work. 



PHILADELPHIA: 

. PETERSON &BROTHERS;g 

306 CHESTNUT STREET. 


T. B 


T. A. TROLLOPE’S WORKS 

Each work is complete in one large duodecimo volume. 

Price of each, $1.75 in Cloth ; or, $1.60 each, in Paper Cover. 
LEONORA CASALONI; OR, THE MARRIAGE SECRET, 

“The pictures of life in Italy, as drawn by Trollope, are as charming 
as they are true. In ‘ Leonora Casaloni,’ the description of the basilica 
of Bt. John of Lateran, at Rome, of the hills on the sea-coast where 
Leonora lived, and of the wild passes of the Apennines through which 
Ceasare traveled, are among the most vivid things of their kind in fiction. 
The character of (lobbo is an original one, and the poor fellow strangely 
enlists our sympathies. The interest turns upon the marriage-secret of a 
great Roman farail)", which is adroitly kept in mystery until the conclud- 
ing pages. This is a story of striking merit — produced in the maturity 
of its gifted author’s mind.” — R. Shelton Mackenzie. 

GEMMA. A TALE OF LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 

“ Mr. T. A. Trollope gives us in ‘ Gemma,’ one of his novels of Italian 
private life of the present day. The descriptions of the city of Siena — of 
the country around — of Savona, the desolate town of Maremma — are won- 
derfull}'^ graphic, and bear witness to their having been done from the life 
by one who has lived in the places and loved them. The scene in the great 
church of Savona is brought vividly before the reader, who will not easily 
shake off the impression it produces. We would recommend the reader to 
learn for himself the unravelling of the plot and the final result. The 
story will well repay perusal, and the interest increases as the story pro- 
ceeds.” — London Athenceum. 

BEPPO; THE CONSCRIPT. 

“In ‘Beppo the Conscript’ we are transported to ‘the narrow strip of 
territory shut in between the Apennines and the Adri.ntle, to the south of 
Bologna and the north of Ancona,’ where European civilization once cen- 
tred, Tasso sung and raved, and the Dukes of Urbino flourished. But 
not to revive their past glories are we beguiled to the decayed old city 
of Eano, and the umbrageous valleys that nestle amid the surrounding 
hills ; it is the normal, primitive, agricultural life and economy of the 
region, and the late political and social condition of the inhabitants, 
which this story illustrates. The means and methods of rural toil, — 
the ‘wine, corn, and oil’ of Scriptural and Virgilian times ; the avarice, 
the pride, the love, the industry, and the superstition of the Contadini of 
the Romagna ; a household of prosperous rustics, their ways and traits ; 
and the subtle and prevailing agency of priestcraft in its secret opposi- 
tion to the new and liberal Italian government, — are all exhibited with 
a quiet zest and a graphic fidelity which takes us into the heart of the 
people, and the arcana, as well as the spectacle of daily life as there latent 
and manifest. The .domestic, peasant, and provincial scenes and charac- 
ters are drawn with fresh and natural colors and faithful outlines.”— 
Henry T. Tuckerman. o 

MARIETTA; OR, LIFE IN TUSCANY. 

“ Mr. T. A. Trollope, always a prime favorite of ours, has excelled him- 
self in ‘ Marietta.’ It is a charming book — charming not for its exquis- 
itely graphic and accurate pictures of Italian life in country and city, but 
still more so for its admirable delineations of character.” — London Satur^ 
day^rcss. 

GIULIO MALATESTA. 

“ Giuno M.4I.ATESTA opeus with distinctive glimpses of an old Italian 
university town — initiates us into the prolonged and patient political con- 
ipiraciea of Romagna, and the ideal hopes of Gioberti’s disciples. Itl 

(11) 




Tnsa 

CONTENTS. 

- ■ ■ < ^ ^ » ■ 

book: I. 

AT BOLOGNA IN 1828. 

Chapter Page 

I. — STUDENTS AT BOLOGNA 23 

II.— IN THE CHURCH OF SAN DOMENICO 33 

HI. — ARCADES AMBO 40 

IV. — THE SERPENT AND THE DOVE 45 

V. — IN THE CONTINI GARDENS 52 

VI. — THE TWO WIDOWS 60 

VII. — BEFORE HIS EMINENCE THE ARCHBISHOP 65 

VIII. — AT FERMO 75 

BOOK TI- 

THE CAKNIVAL AT FLORENCE IN 1848. 

I.— IN THE PALAZZO BRANCACCI 90 

11. — THE CONTESSA ZENOBIA 95 

III. — AT THE PALAZZO ALTAMARI 99 

IV. — THE WINTER WALK AT THE CASCINE 106 

V. — THE PALMIERI FAMILY 116 

VI. — WHAT CARLO BRANCACCI INTENDED 125 

(19) 


20 CONTENTS. 

Chapter. T-age 

VII. — YOUNG EYES 1-9 

VIII. — THE VEQLIONE ^35 

BOOIK III- 
CUKTATONE. 

I. — FBANCESCA VAEANI 142 

II. — THE PEOFESSOE’S SUPPEE-TABLE 151 

TTI. — THE MAECH 161 

IV. — SIGNOEINA BENEDETTA 169 

V. — THE HOUE BEFOEE THE BATTLE 180 

VI. — THE BATTLE 189 

VII. — AFTEE THE BATTLE 200 

VIII. — THE EETUEN 207 

book; i’V- 

THE UESULINES AT MONTEPULCIANO. 

I. — STELLA’S PATEIOTISM 217 

IT. — THE CANON ADALBEETO 226 

III. — SPIEITUAL INFLUENCES 236 

IV. — THE NEW ABBESS 240 

V. — MEMOEY VEESUS HOPE 253 

VI. — A TETE-A-TETE IN THE SACEISTY 266 

VII. — THE ABBESS AND HEE PUPIL 271 

BOOK -V- . 

SANTA CROCE. 

I. — CAPTAIN malatesta’s lettees 283 

II. — MAETA VAEANI 289 


CONTENTS. 21 

Chapt-er 

III. — THE SEALED PACKET 299 

IV. — STELLA’S BETURN HOME 310 

V.— GIULIO IN FLORENCE ONCE MORE 318 

VI.— THE REQUIEM IN SANTA CROCE 329 

booe: 'V'i. 

THE MARCHESE MALATESTA. 

I. — THE MARCHESE FLORIMOND AND CARLO BRANCACCI. . 339 

II. — THE archbishop’s CHANCERY 349 

III. — CARLO BRANCACCI AND THE ABBESS 357 

IV. — carlo’s supper 367 

V. — MOTHER AND SON 377 

VL— GIULIO’S DIAGRAM 392 

VII.— CONCLUSION 405 






THE SEALED PACKET. 


BOOEZ I. 

AT BOLOGNA IN 1828. 


CHAPTER L 

STUDENTS AT BOLOGNA. 

Those whose ideas of a university town have been formed 
from an acquaintance, eitlier of many years, or of a single 
day, with our English Almae Matres on the banks of Isis or 
of Cam, are apt to be disappointed with their first visit to any 
of the celebrated seats of academical learning on the Conti- 
nent. All that meets the stranger’s eye at either of our bow- 
er’d — though not olived — Academes proclaims the specialty 
of the place. 

The stranger in Padua or Pisa, on inquiring for the Uni- 
versity, would ver}’’ possibly be told by several of the inhab- 
itants that they really did not know where it was situated ; 
much as a Londoner might not know where the church of 
St. Andrew Undershaft is. He would, however, easily find 
some one who would point out to him, in no specially promi- 
nent part of the town, a building little, if at all, distinguished 
from many of the other “palace” residences of the city. If 
he persevered so far in his researches as to penetrate into the 
interior of the building, he would find a series of dreary and 
shabby-looking rooms, furnished with a pulpit or reading- 
desk, and a surrounding hemi-cycle of bare forms, such as 
may be seen in many a village schoolroom. He would then 
be informed that he had seen the University. 

At Bologna, indeed, something has of late years been done 
towards embellishing the University building. The arcades 

( 23 ) 


24 


STUDENTS AT BOLOGNA. 


that run along the interior of the wall which shuts out the 
main courtyard of the building from the street have been 
somewhat gaudily painted with a vast number of the heraldric 
devices of the former ornaments to the Universit}’^ ; and thei 
library, which has recently been decorated rather too brilliantly 
in a similar style, is a tine room. The letters of cheap bache- 
lor apartments no doubt are aware that there is a greater de- 
mand for such accommodation in Bologna than in other cities ; 
and those who know the town and all the corners of it well, 
may know where, in certain eating-houses and Certain cafes, 
the student class of the population may be found, manifesting, 
in an unobtrusive manner, its special idiosyncrasies. 

It was not, however, in anj^ one of the haunts of that kind, 
specially frequented b}’^ the students, that our present story 
has to open itself, although the circumstances to be placed be- 
fore the reader will be most conveniently explained by’’ a report 
of a conversation which took place between two individuals, 
who were completing the last twelvemonth of their academical 
course in the year 1828 . 

Bologna stands on the extreme edge of the immense plain 
of Lombardy, closo to the foot of the most advanced spur of 
the Appenines. The hills do not unite themselves by gentle 
and gradual slopes with the flat plain, as is the case in most 
other similar localities, but throw out a series of buttresses, 
forming a variety of isolated eminences and vantage points, 
- the sides of which rise abruptly with great steepness, so as to 
form a boundaiy line between the hill country and the plain, 
as marked and decided ns any frontier of man^s devising. So 
that, on passing out of the city gates in one direction, the 
wayfarer enters immediately on the hill countrj’^of the Appen- 
nines ; and, in the opposite direction, on the flat, dusty roads, 
with their interminable avenues of dust-colored poplars, and 
the rich alluvial fields of the great plain of Lombardy. 

One of the vantage points thus standing out from the chain 
of mountains immediately' above Bologna, has been crowned 
with a notable specimen of those often-recurring churches, 
wdiich indicate the curious persistence of the superstition in 
favor of “ high places for the purpose of worship. It is 
called “ La Madonna di San Luca ; ” and though a band- 
some building in the Greek Cross and cupola style, is far more 
remarkable on account of its position, than from any’- other 
merit. A continuous arcaded colonnade extends the whole 


STUDENTS AT BOLOGNA. 


25 


distance from the city gate to the platform, on which the 
church is built, climbing the steep ascent in some parts by a 
sloping incline, and at other, where the hill-side is more 
abrupt, by flights of stairs. This immense colonnade, built 
by the contributions of the city and the surrounding communes, 
must be some two miles or more in length, and enables the 
devotees of “ JLa Madonna di San Luca ” to perform the 
vows or penances, which enjoin the repetition of a prescribed 
number of psalms or aves at her shrine, without suffering the 
additional infliction of exposure to sun or rain. And the 
stranger at Bologna, whose attention has been attracted by 
the striking position of the church, and by the evident prom- 
ise of a magnificent ptlnoramic view of the plain of Lombardy, 
is equally thankful for the singular manifestation of devotion, 
which enables him to make the ascent under shelter. 

On a bright sunny afternoon of a day in March, the two 
young men, who had sauntered up to “ La Madonna di San 
Luca” merel}'’ for the sake of a quiet and uninterrupted con- 
versation, had the terrace, and low parapet wall on which they 
were lounging, to themselves. For though it was one of the 
first days in Lent, and the number of devotees at the shrine 
had been proportionably large in the morning, those duties are 
generally performed in the hours before the “Angelus;’^ for 
devotion, like other duties, must not be allowed to interfere 
with the mid-day meal. The place would hardly be found so 
given up to solitude at any day or hour now, as it was on that 
March afternoon in 1828, for the new needs of Italy have re- 
quired that this prominent and remarkable hill-side, standing 
out like an advanced work into the plain, should be turned into 
a strong defensible military position ; and the successive ter- 
races of the mountain have been converted into a series of 
batteries. There is a small barrack about half way up the 
ascent ; and soldiers may be seen at all hours — not only sen- 
tries at a variety of salient points all up the hill-side, but 
loungers on the stone-coped parapet walls of the terraces around 
the church, and under the interminable vistas of the arcades. 

The younger-looking of the two students was the Marchese 
Cesare Malatesta, the only son of the Marchese Salvadore Mal- 
atesta of Fermo, a very wealthy nobleman, of ancient lineage, 
well known at Kome, and in the province, of which he was 
probably the largest landowner, as one of the few laymen on 
whose loyalty and devotion to the government the Holy See 


26 


STUDENTS AT BOLOGNA. 


could rel.y. Though not yet twentj- years old, the young Mar- 
chese had none of the bo3'ishness, either of appearance or man- 
ner, which strongly' characterised his older-looking companion. 
He was a tall, well-grown youth, witli abundance of dark glossy 
curls, a well-cared-for moustache to match, large liquid dark 
e^^es, and a well-formed mouth ; unquestionably a very hand- 
some young man. His costume was elegant ; and his man- 
ners graceful and easy. By his contemporaries of either sex, 
Cesare Malatesta was considered to be, and deserved to be, the 
cynosure of all neighboring eyes. 

He was very evidently the leading spirit of the strangely 
associated couple. Poor Pietro Varani — for that was the name 
of Cesare’s companion — epithet and all, that may’’ almost be 
said to have been his name, so constantl}^ was the not unkindly 
yet depreciatory adjective prefixed to it — poor Pietro Varani 
had quite as decidedly too little as Cesare had too much of 
self-assertion and self-confidence. He was wrong in his esti- 
mate of himself ; and so w'ere the contemporaries, who were 
quite ready to accept his own judgment on that, if on no other 
subject 

Poor Pietro Varani was the son of the widow of an ofiScer 
in the French service, who had returned with her invalided 
husband to her native city some ten 3’ears before the date of 
the conversation to be recorded. He had died about a y^ear 
ago, leaving her in very straitened circumstances, which were 
rendered yet more difficult by the birth of a posthumous 
daughter a few months after his death. The child was named 
Francesca. 

One of the principal advantages which had induced Major 
Varani and his wife Marta to choose Bologna, her native cit3’’, 
rather than Corsica, the country of his birth, as their future 
home, when he had been compelled by failing health to retire 
from active service, was the means it afforded to their son Pietro 
of pursuing at very trifling cost the studious career, for which 
alone he seemed to have any liking or aptitude. His ambition 
had been ^o qualify himself for, and obtain a doctor’s degree, 
or “ the laurel,” as the more poetic phrase goes in the Italian 
universities, in medicine. And he was now on the point of 
obtaining that object, after having performed prodigies of self- 
denial and uphill labor, pursued with ardor in the teeth of 
obstacles of all kinds. He was an enthusiastic naturalist, and, 
above all, a botanist. For the present, poor Pietro shared his 
mother’s crust ; and while happy amid his books and plants, 
was tormented by no thought for the morrow. 


STUDENTS AT BOLOGNA. 


27 


But of all men in the UniTersity of Bologna, one would 
least have dreamed of seeing Pietro Varani in company with 
the ga}'’ and gallant Cesare Malatesta! Tlie contrast between 
the outward and visible presentment of the two men was curi- 
ouslj^ violent. Pietro had not been favored by Nature with 
those powerful letters of reccommendation, a handsome face and 
pleasing person. He was somewhat taller than Malatesta; 
but the length of limb, which contributed to the beauty of 
Nature’s favorite, made only the gawkiness of her stepson. 
Loosely put together, and ill knit, poor Pietro shambled in his 
gait, seemed to use his shoulders as much as his legs for the 
purpose of progression, and communicated by his every move- 
ment to all who saw him an unpleasant sense of jerking discord 
and want of harmony between his limbs, which appeared to 
act each in perfect independence of its fellow. His great big 
head, with its great big face composed of a harlequin set of ill- 
assorted features, was the fitting complement to his ungainly 
body. There was little color in the pale gaunt cheeks, little 
color in the pale hay-colored hair and scanty beard, and little 
color in the pale blue eye. The whole face seemed and 
washed out. The mouth was large and ill cut, the ears large 
and coarse, and the nose broad and flattened. Yet, with all 
this, there was a massive squareness about the chin which 
denoted power of will ; a knotty development of the rugged 
brow, which promised vigor of intellect ; and some few per- 
sons might have imagined that they could read in those great 
pale blue eyes, indications of a vein of poetic sentiment, and 
dormant capabilities of enthusiasm, hidden far down in the 
depths of his moral nature, which only some violent disturb- 
ance of the superincumbent soil could ever bring to the sur- 
face. 

This absent tendency of his companion’s eye, and apparently 
of his mind in company with it, to divest itself of all specula- 
tion concerning the matters immediately before it, and employ 
itself in wandering over the far distant landscape, had already 
more than once provoked the irritation of Malatesta. 

a Oh — e ! friend Pietro ! ” he exclaimed, looking at Varani 
with no very amiable expression of countenance, but forcibly 
repressing any manifestations of his ill humor ; are you 
dreaming ? Have you any idea of what we came up here to 
talk of ; or have you forgotten all about it? ” 

“ I was only thinking, Signor Cesare, how far it might be in 
a straight line to those snowy mountain-tops we can just see, 
if you look fixedly towards them, away there beyond the Po.” 


28 


STUDENTS AT BOLOGNA. 


Tlie devil take the snowy mountain-tops and the Po too ! 
■What liave they to do with the matter in hand ? Do you 
remember all that I have been telling you about Maddalena ? 
Have you got it into your wool-gathering brains that I mean 
to act rightly and honorably towards her 

“And do you not remember, Signor Cesare,” said Varani, 
•painfully calling his mind home from its w'anderings on the 
far horizon, and bringing it to bear upon the matter thus 
forced upon his attention — “ do you not remember that I said 
I was very glad to hear it? Honestly, most esteemed Signor 
Cesare, I will confess that jmu are a better man than I thought 
you, honestly now,” said poor Pietro, with some emotion. “ I 
honor your self-denial, with all my heart,” Varani continued, 
his mind now thoroughly occupied with the topic in hand ; 
“ 3mu will go no more to the house of La Signora Tacca ; jmu 
will break off an acquaintance which it would have been safer 
never to have commenced ! ” 

“ Why you but what should you know, my poor Pietro, 

about such things!” said Malatesta, jumping off the parapet 
wall, on which he had been sitting, and taking two or three 
hasty strides, which brought him back to the spot in front of 
Varani, who sat on the coping-stone gazing at him with his 
great blue eyes open to their utmost extent. “ Much Madda- 
lena would thank you for settling the matter in that way. 
There would have been no need to bring you up here to tell 
you that ! ” 

“ I thought we had come up to look at the view over the 
plains. It is so beautiful under the afternoon sun,” said 
Pietro, innocentljr. 

“ Wo ! Pietro mio ! I don’t mean that. What I do mean 
is better than that. I mean to marry Maddalena Tacca !” 

Pietro here opened his mouth also, as well as his eyes, but 
no words came from him. 

“ Can I do better ? Have I not won her heart — and such 
a heart ! AVould it not be baser than all else to break it? 
Give up Maddalena ! Is she not a wife for a prince ? ” 

Varani still seemed unable to give utterance to his senti- 
ments upon the subject, whatever they were. But he slowly 
nodded his great head some half-dozen times, as he sat on the 
low wall looking up into the handsome face of Malatesta 
standing exactly in front of him ; and at last, with an appar- 
ently painful convulsion, jerked out, one by one, the words : 
“ La Maddalena is worthy to be the wife of the best man who 


STUDENTS AT BOLOGNA. 


29 


is worthy of her. What will the Marchese Salvadore at 
Fermo, j^our father, say to it.” 

There is no doubt at all what he would say,” replied the 
other, “ and therefore there is no need of asking him. Cer- 
tainly I shall never marry my sweet Maddalena if I wait till he 
consents to my doing so. But I did not think. Signor Varani, 
that ^ou would be found among the supporters of the old- 
fashioned prejudices which would see anything objectionable 
in such a match. I had been led to expect more liberal 
views from you.” 

The Marchese Cesare Malatesta knew perfectly well indeed, 
not only that his companion had been educated from his cradle 
upwards in the school of those somewhat ultra-revolutionary 
ideas which had been fostered and forced upon the inhabitants 
of Italy, and especially of the Pontifical States, by the intoler- 
able badness of the existing governments, but that his mother 
and his humble house were especially noted in the black books 
of the Papal police. Poor Pietro, indeed, had not made him- 
self conspicuous as a violent politician. But all his feelings 
and all his theories on social questions were, as Malatesta well 
knew, of a class that would lead him to approve, rather than 
object, to a marriage which set at nought the old world and 
conservative theories on the subject. 

From me / ” he said. “ WJiat matters my opinion on the 
matter. You are not of age ; you canuot marry without your 
father’s consent. And even if you were of age, how could you 
make a marriage which he would never forgive ? ” 

“ You must excuse me, Pietro mio” returned Cesare, ^Mf I 
tell you that your remarks betray an equal ignorance of canon 
law, and of the strength of an immense and virtuous passion. 
My father’s consent is in no wise necessary to my good and 
lawful marriage, as I shall very easily prove to you from this 
authority ; ” — and he drew a small parchment-bound volume 
from his pocket as he spoke. “ Look here,” he said, as he pro- 
ceeded to turn over the leaves of his volume till he came to the 
chapter he was in search of; “here are the canons of the 
Church respecting the holy sacrament of marriage. The rule 
Is simple enough and clear enough. Any two persons of mar- 
riageable age, not subject to any of the canonical impediments 
to marriage, appearing before their parish priest, or before the 
bishop of the diocese, together with two witnesses, and in their 
presence declaring that they mutually take each other for man 


80 


STUDENTS AT BOLOGNA. 


and wife, are such indissolubly. Nothing else is needed to 
make them righth^, legally, and irrevocably one.’’ 

“But,” said Varani, surely the law punishes clandestine 
marriages ? ” 

“ Yes ! ” returned Malatesta, who had evidently made him- 
self master of the subject ; “ that is the beauty of our eccle- 
siastical government. The civil law punishes what the eccle- 
siastical law has done. But it don’t undo it ! And as for the 
punishment it is not a very terrible one ; — a few months — 
perhaps only a few weeks — of imprisonment, generally com- 
muted into reclusion in a monastery. No such very great 
price to pay for such a wife as Maddalena ! ” 

There was silence between the young men for a few minutes, 
while Varani was conning the text-book, which the other had 
put into his hands. 

“ Yes t ” said Varani, as he returned the little volume, “ it 
seems clear enough that a marriage so made is as indissoluble 
as any other.” 

‘•,And now listen, my dear fellow, and I will tell jmu my plan. 
For, somehow or other, Varani, I own I hardly can tell how it 
is, but I have such a feeling of respect for your character and 
judgment, that I am anxious to have your approval in the 
matter. You know it was your good counsel that made me 
give up all thoughts of acting towards Maddalena in a way of 
which I am now heartily ashamed.” 

“ die! Your better nature ” interrupted Varani. 

“ Well, well ! any way, let those bygones be bygones ! 
Now listen to my present scheme. It would not do to go 
before the parish priest for many reasons. He would know 
Maddalena ; he would suspect what we were up to ; he would 
get wind of there being something between us ; and we 
should get into a mess.” 

“ How get into a mess, if what the book there says holds 
good ? ” asked Pietro. 

“ To make the marriage,” said Malatesta, “ the priest must 
hear the declaration of the parties to the contract. He will 
avoid doing so, if he can. I mean to be married in style by 
his Eminence the Cardinal Archbishop of Bologna. The 
sacred canons, you will observe, call the Bishop parochus 
liarocliorum, and as such consider him competent, a fortiori as 
one may say, to do aught which they are able to do. And his 
Eminence will be the man for our little affair, both because 


STUDENTS AT BOLOGNA. 81 

having no knowledge of either me or Maddalena, he will sus- 
pect nothing, and because he is too old to run away.’^ 

“ But you won’t catch his Eminence in an apothecary’s 
shop ! How will you get at him ? ” urged Varani. 

“ Listen ! and you will see that I have looked not only 
before leaping, but before deciding on making the spring,” 
said Malatesta, with a capable air. “This is how it is to be. 
You know the gardens of the Contini Villa? Xo !” he con- 
tinued, as Varani made a negative gesture ; “ I thought every- 
body in Bologna knew the Villa Contini. It lies under the 
hill there to our left, about three miles from the gate. There 
are charming gardens behind the house, and one special 
secluded avenue between clipped hedges twenty feet high or 
more. At the farthest end from the house this quiet walk 
ends in a sort of circular arbor, formed of ilex-trees, which 
must have been planted some time before the Flood. The 
round space thus enclosed is a good bit larger than the width 
of the walk, so that a person coming up the walk gets no view 
of the whole of it. The place is all as quiet and shut in as 
if it was really a church. Well ! that’s where the Archbishop 
goes for his walk. He is sure to be there on a Saturday after- 
noon, if the weather is tolerably fine, as he is to be at mass on 
the Sunday morning. He drives out, leaves his carriage at 
the entrance of the gardens, and makes straight for this quiet 
avenue, to meditate and get an appetite for dinner. I shall 
be with Maddalena and my witnesses w’aiting out of sight, 
and when he steps out from the avenue under the ilex-trees, 
the job will be done comfortably and quietly, and past all un- 
doing, in two minutes ! What do you say to that ? ” 

“ Has Maddalena consented to it ? ” 

“Consented ! Per Bacco ! I should think she did consent ! 
Yes, Maddalena Tacca has consented to become the Marchesa 
Maddalena Malatesta, and the adored wife of your very hum- 
ble servant. But now, Pietro, mio, comes the part of the 
business on which I want to consult you. You, in point of 
fact, are the author of this marriage. Was it not your coun- 
sel and good advice — for which I shall always owe you a debt 
of gratitude, old fellow — that first opened my eyes to all the 
wickedness of seeking Maddalena’s love on anj^ other 
terms ? ” | 

“ My advice was to let her alone altogether ! ” eagerly inter-^ 
posed Varani. 


B2 STUDENTS AT BOLOGNA 

True ! it was so, speaking in total ignorance of the heart 
of either of us. Such a course, I think I may say, would 
have been as cruel to Maddalenaas impossible to me. I think 
I have done better than that. Can you deny that, having 
won her heart, I am acting more honorably towards her than 
I should be by deserting her?” 

‘^No!” said Varani, after another pause, I cannot deny 
it. I suppose that, under the circumstances, you are doing 
the best thing that can be done in the matter.” 

‘‘ That is honestly spoken, like yourself, Varani. Now, 
may I not count on your friendship, Pietro mio ? ” 

I — I — I think that I — I — I had rather not speak to Mad- 
dalena on the subject ! ” stammered poor Pietro. 

Speak to Maddalena, man ! Who ever dreamed of asking 
you ? ” cried Malatesta, hardly able to conceal his scorn for 
the ungainly poor fellow whom he was bent on cajoling. 

No ! what I want of you is simply this ; — and I do not 
think, as I said, that under the circumstances it would be 
right of you to refuse me. I only ask you to be one of the 
witnesses of the marriage. I will not attempt to conceal from 
you that the witnesses to such a marriage are likely, unless 
they take themselves out of the way, to get into some trouble, 
and be subjected to a short imprisonment. The Conte Man- 
cini of Macerata, will be one witness. But unless you will 
stand our friend, I know not where to look for the other.” 

“ You, who know all the men of rank in Bologna ! ” inter- 
posed Varani, who had now recovered his composure. 

“ Yes ! I know them all,” returned Malatesta, with well 
simulated bitterness ; ‘‘ I know them ; and, with the exception 
of my good Maso Mancini, there is not one among them to 
whom I would entrust the honor of my Maddalena. But 
with you ! We thought — Maddalena thought that you would 
not refuse to protect her by your presence on this occasion. 
She felt that the step she was taking would be more favorably 
judged in Bologna here, if jmu, known and respected as you 
are, gave it your countenance.” 

“ Say no more, Signor Cesare ! You may tell Maddalena 
I will not fail to do what she asks of me.” 

“ That is a good fellow and a true friend. I need not say 
that I shall be ready with any assistance that may be needed 
to enable you to get out of the way for a short time. My 
plan is to go off immediately after ‘ the ceremony ^ has been 


IN THE CHURCH OF SAN DOMENICO. 


83 


performed. I and Maddalena will show Bologna a clean pair 
of heels. I have no notion of spending the honeymoon, I in 
one convent, and my bride in another ! 

Thanks, Signor Cesare ! but I shall not leave Bologna. 
I care little about the imprisonment. There are plenty of 
better men than I in the prisons of Bologna. I would do 
more than that for — for — for any cause in which it was neces- 
sar3^’’ 

“ Well, then, my dear fellow, we may count on you. I am 
so grateful — Maddalena will be so grateful ! ” 

‘‘ Have you fixed your day ? ’’ 

“ Hot yet. Perhaps Saturday in next week. I shall con- 
cert all with you as soon as ever we have settled it.’^ 

So be it!’^ said Varani. “How beautifully the setting 
sun is gilding the white walls of Modena!^’ 

Then the two students sauntered down under the arcades 
into the city. 


CHAPTEE II. 

IN THE CHURCH OF SAN DOMENICO. 

Pietro Varani had declared when he had felt himself 
called on by his fellow-student to express an opinion on the 
subject, that Maddalena Tacca was worthy to be the wife of 
the best man who was worthy of her. It may be observed 
that he had far better grounds for arriving at a decided opin- 
ion on the subject than Malatesta himself had enjoyed. For 
ever since Marta Varani and her invalided husband had taken 
up their abode in Bologna, they had been next-door neighbors 
of the widow Tacca and her daughter. The two families in- 
habited the third floor of a dreary-looking but respectable and 
substantial old house in the Piazza di San Domenico. The 
doors of their respective apartments opened opposite to each 
other on the same landing-place. Under such circumstances, 
neighborhood means more, and leads more necessarily to inti- 
macy, than the mere occupancy of two adjacent tenements. 

2 


84 


IN THE, CHURCH OF SAN DOMENICO. 


So the Varani and the Tacca families had become close 
friends. 

La Signora Tacca was the widow of a clerk in the Pontifi- 
cal lotter^'-ofSce, from which establishment she received a very 
small pension, which, added to the trifle that her husband had 
contrived to leave behind him, sufficed to maintain her and 
her daughter in that decency and respectability w’hich are so 
frequently in Italy made compatible with a degree of poverty 
which would, to our more exigent people, appear next door to 
destitution. It is extraordinary on how small a sum of money 
an Italian family, espef*ially if it consist of females onlj’’, will 
contrive to exist in independence ; and how infinitesimal a 
part of the microscopic income w'ill be spent on the necessary 
means of keeping body and soul together. 

It was amid the safe but inexpressibly dreary monotony’- of 
such a life as this that Maddalena Tacca had grown from 
infancy to girlhood. The widow Tacca was what the world 
calls a good woman, and a good mother. In her inmost heart 
she believed herself to be both ; and to the best of her small 
lights she strove to be both. Nevertheless, her utter selfish- 
ness in the small matters of their small life made Maddalena’s 
lot a very much harder one than it would otherwise have been. 
Maddalena was one of those who accept without questioning 
and without repining the award which appears to have made 
it their lot, and which rapidly makes it their nature, to minis- 
ter to others rather than be ministered to ; to stand in the 
shade lest thej’- intercept anj’" sunbeam on its way to w'arm 
some one of Fortune’s favorites ; to seek their chastened con- 
tentment only in the reflection of some other’s happiness; 
and even in the supreme need of loving, wdiich often in such 
natures is developed in all-consuming strength, as a result of 
the repression of all other growth, to give in far larger meas- 
ure than they ever hope to receive. 

Such w'as the nature of Maddalena Tacca, and such had 
been the result of the life-training she had received. Such 
were her surroundings and position when chance brought her 
under the notice of Cesare Malatesta. He had gone one day 
into the church of San Domenico, for the purpose of showing 
a stranger guest the celebrated sepulchre of the Saint ; and 
while his friend was examining the masterpieces of the great 
sculptors who have vied with each other in adorning that won- 
derful work, had amused himself with furtively gazing at the 


IN THE CHURCH OF SAN DOMENICO. 85 

kneeling figure of Maddalena, as she was complying with the 
behests of her confessor, by reciting certain litanies at a fald- 
stool in front of the great iron gates which shut off the 
cliapel enclosing the tomb of the Saint from the body of the 
church. 

Maddalena was then just about nineteen years old, having 
been between nine and ten when Marta Varani and her hus- 
band and their son, then a year or so older than Maria Tacca’s 
little girl, liad returned to Bologna and become their neigh- 
bors in the sombre old house situated in the secluded and 
dreary piazza of San Domenico. Few feet trod the grass- 
grown pavement of tlie little area, the irregular-shaped space 
of which includes two sides of the huge church of San Do- 
menico, save those of the black friars of the adjoining convent, 
and those of the strangers, mostly English, who came to gaze 
at the marvels of sculpture that have made the last resting- 
place of St. Dominic one of the high places of art. A few 
old women, who had discovered that a special devotion to St. 
Dominic might be very conveniently combined with a special 
opportunity of begging of the heretics who came to worship 
art at his shrine, were almost the only other persons whom 
Maddalena was likely to meet when she stepped across from 
the old house in one corner of the square to the door of the 
church opposite to it. This visit to the grand old church was 
an almost daily event in Maddalena’s life; — almost the only 
event of any sort in their day. 

It would be scarcely correct to say that this assiduous 
church-going was the result of religious devotion. Though 
by no means undevout, devotion was not the sole object of 
Maddalena’s visits to the church of St. Dominic. And as 
she knelt, when Malatesta first saw her, with her delicately 
pure face turned, there was more of vague half conscious 
seeking than of religious rapture found in the large limpid 
eyes, which were busy among the details of the Gothic tracery 
far away in the dim vaults above her head, or with the grand 
and graceful forms of the frescoes on the walls around her. 

It was a singularly fair, refined, and eminently sensitive 
face, raised and somewhat thrown back, so that the rich golden 
light of the upper half of the tinted window slanted over it ; 
one of those faces which do not come into their full inheritance 
of beauty till early girlhood is past ; large hazel-grey eyes, 
serious and sincere; broad glossy waves of chestnut hair; 


86 


IN THE CHURCH OF SAN DOMENICO. 


softly modelled features, with more of the Donatello than of 
the old Greek t3’pe in their delicate outline. The brows 
were clearly marked, and somewhat saddened by a slight de- 
pression of their slender line as it reached the temples ; the 
lips unmistakably’- tender and true, but neither pouting nor 
glowing. The complexion, though pale, was by no means 
wholly colorless, but gained from every passing emotion that 
sort of subdued glow which trembles through an alabaster 
lamp. Over the whole beautiful face and tall, slender figure, 
over the lithe hands, listlessly twined together, and resting on 
the top of the faldstool, there lay a shadow of ungirlish sad- 
ness, which so chastened and etherealised its expression, that 
kneeling thus absorbed, as the jewelled light poured over her 
figure, she might have been described in those beautiful lines 
of Keats: 


Rose bloom fell on her hands together pressed ; 

And on her silver cross soft amethyst; 

And on her hair a glory like a saint ; 

She seemed a splendid Angel newly dressed 
Save wings, for heaven. 

Those who imagine that there is nothing more subtle and 
recondite in the laws which regulate so my’steriously the 
attraction felt by one individual towards another than what 
maj’- be explained by" the rough and ready rule that “like 
seeks like,” may be surprised at the powerful impression pro- 
duced on Cesare Malatesta by the sight of Maddalena thus 
kneeling before her faldstool. 

Be the cause what it might, the fact was that Malatesta was 
impressed by the pale beauty" of Maddalena, in a manner that 
no other had ever iinpressed him. He had abundant leisure 
to contemplate the figure before him, while his friend was 
engaged in studying the wonderful collection of sculpture 
which the devotion of several generations has gathered to do 
honor to the great monk, whose word is y"et a living power 
among the forces that shape the world’s destinies. The minutes 
seemed very short, which sufficed him to fix indelibly in his 
mind every detail of the gracious and harmonious picture — the 
rare beauty of the upturned face ; the perfect form of the 
long and slender, but not too slender throat ; the exquisite curve 
of the outline extending from the point of the delicate little 
transparent ear to the extremity of the shoulder, and of the 
returning curve, which brought back the line to the round, 


IN THE CHURCH OF SAN DOMENICO. 


37 


flexible, and all but too slender waist ; and the remarkable 
elegance of the long, slender hands, the position of which on 
the back of the faldstool ha*d caused the simple sleeve of her 
dark colored dress to be pushed back, so as to expose to view 
the admirably formed wrist. 

Did Cesare Malatesta “ fall in love ’’ wdth this pure and 
gracious vision there and then, as he gazed on it framed in 
the sombre spaces of the vast and silent church ? 

Cesare would have replied that he was desperately, irrevo- 
cablj^, irremediably in love ; that he must obtain the love of 
that fair girl kneeling there at the Taldstool or die ; that life 
had no other object for him, and other remarks of the same 
sort, which Adam no doubt addressed to Eve. 

It appeared, indeed, that for the moment, at all events, life 
had no other object for him but the pursuit of the vision which 
had charmed him. For, utterly refusing to quit the church 
with his friend, when the latter had concluded his artistic 
studies, he continued to watch Maddalena, unobserved by her, 
till she left the edifice, and then prepared to follow her cau- 
tiously to whatsoever home in all Bologna she might betake 
herself. This task, however, was a much more easy one, and 
more quickly completed, than he had anticipated. For, almost 
before he had ventured to leave the door of the church in pur- 
suit, he saw her enter a house not a hundred yards from it on 
the opposite side of \\\^ loiazza. To ascertain from the porter 
on which floor the lady lived who had just entered the house 
was a very easy task ; and then, bj’ a few well-directed 
inquiries, to learn who and what she was, and how surrounded, 
was, for such a person as the Marchese Cesare Malatesta, in 
such a city as Bologna, scarcely a more diJQScult one. 

In a very few daj^s he had learned all these facts; in a very 
few more had established an intimacy with Pietro, had found 
his way into the widow Varani’s home, and thence, all too 
easil}^ into that of the other widow on the opposite side of the 
landing. Then came the task of gaining Maddalena’s affec- 
tions. 

Shall I tell the truth, and admit that in this part of the 
business in hand Malatesta’s progress was rapid ? I hope 
not ; for, in truth, I do not think that she merits their cold 
shoulder. She had no idea of any reason why she should not 
give her love when it was sought by one who seemed to de- 
serve it ; and far less any notion why, when it had been given, 


38 


IN THE CHURCH OF SAN DOMENICO. 


she should deny the fact. And let it be remembered how 
effulgentlj^ glorious an apparition the handsome and brilliant 
young Marchese must have seemed when he entered within the 
circle of tliat wan and dismal life ! 

So Maddalena was dazzled, wooed and won. 

Then had come serious meditations on the part of the con- 
quering hero, in what shape and guise he should attempt to 
possess himself of the prize. Such meditations are often de- 
ferred until the winning shall have been accomplished, with 
a more or less successful attempt on the part of those engaged 
in that pleasant sport to* figure to themselves that the goal 
towards which they are running is an avowable one. In the 
case of the Marchese Malatesta it had never once occurred to 
him to imagine for an instant, while engaged in winning the 
heart of Maddalena, that any matter connected with the choice 
of a future Marchesa Malatesta was in question. He knew per- 
fectly well that the individual destined for that position had 
been long ago selected, and was duly waiting for the fullness of 
time away there in distant Fermo; that two great and noble 
families throughout all their ramifications would be thrown into 
confusion and convulsions of astonishment, indignation, and 
distress, if he were to fail in duly carrying out the family 
arrangements ; and that all this trouble would be intensified 
into horror if he were to dream of insulting the family of his 
destined bride, and disgracing his own, by bringing home such 
a person as Maddalena Tacca in the character of Marchesa 
Malatesta. AH this he knew ; and could not be said to have 
weighed the difficulties thus placed in his path, only because it 
had never entered his head for an instant to combat them. 

Nevertheless, he had become aware, during the period of 
his acquaintance with Maddalena, of a half-comprehended 
something, which warned him of the hopelessness of bringing 
his pursuit to any other successful issue. It was not that any 
shadow of an appearance of being on her guard, or the small- 
est symptom of preparation for defence, was perceptible in her 
conduct or manner. On the contrary, there was the most 
unmistakable absence of the remotest suspicion of any other 
possibility in the future than one. It was this, perhaps, even 
more than the perfect purity of her own mind and conscious- 
ness, which made the case, as Cesare said to his friend. Carlo 
Mancini, so very difficult a one. 

This was not the only difficulty in his path. Though, 


IN THE CHURCH OF SAN DOMENICO. 


39 


somewhat to his , surprise, he had found Maddalena so naively 
ignorant of the necessities of his position, and so unsuspicious 
ot evil, it never entered his head to imagine that Varani could 
be liable to any mistakes or delusions on the subject. If he 
felt that he could not venture to let a dishonoring word fall on 
her ear, he never dreamed of thinking it necessary to be 
equally cautious with him. But the first careless hint of his 
purpose to Varani was met by poor Pietro in a manner that 
made him comprehend at once, to his indignant astonishment, 
that here was an opponent in his path not to be got rid of by 
violence or menace, and whose position in the midst of Mad- 
dalena’s home surroundings made it equally out of the ques- 
tion to keep him in ignorance of his proceedings. 

It appeared necessary to the truthfulness of this narrative 
that Varani should be presented to the mind of the reader 
such as he really appeared to the eyes of those among whom 
,, he lived ; and this was according!}’’ honestly done in 
the preceding chapter. But having thus introduced Pietro, 
nothing extenuating, though assuredly setting down naught 
in malice, I confess that I have shrunk from the attempt of 
interesting my readers, however “ gentle,” in an}’’ story of his 
hapless love. No one among them can be more gentle than 
was Maddalena ; yet it never occurred to her to imagine that 
“ poor Pietro ” could look on her, or indeed on any other girl, 
with eyes of love. But, alas ! — to quote the grand old chant 
of Burns yet once again — “A man’s a man for a’ that.” And 
though Pietro scarcely ever dared to confess to himself that 
he had been guilty of the audacity of loving such a creature as 
Maddalena, and far — • very far — less had dreamed of ever 
betraying the deeply buried secret to any other, and least of 
all to the object of his passion, he was doomed, and knew 
that he was doomed, to walk his solitary way through the 
unsunned paths of life, laden, in addition to so many other 
lieavy burdens, by the irremovable sorrow of an utterly hope- 
less love. 

Suffice it, that having felt during the progress of their love 
that he was without either the right or the power to interfere 
with it in any way, he had also had the instinctive delicacy to 
feel, when the time came that made it necessary for him — 
even him, in default of any other — to stand between Madda- 
lena and destruction, that he had no right or claim to take 
upon himself the character of her Paladin and protector j 


40 


ARCADES AMBO. 


that to assume the airs of such in the eyes of their little 
world would throw over her a portion of the ridicule, the shafts 
of whichr he could have braved in such a matter himself But 
yet the evil must at all costs be averted. If deeds had to be 
done, they must be so done that no bystander should guess 
their motive. If words might suffice, they must be few, and so 
spoken, as to be and to remain between him and the foe. The 
words had been few, and not, as may be imagined, eloquently 
uttered. But they did suffice. And these were the “virtuous 
remonstrances^’ to which Malatesta had referred in his conver- 
sation on the hill of La Madonna di San Luca ; and hence 
the “awakening of his better nature,” as Yarani was fain to 
think it, which had led to that conversation. 


CHAPTER III. 

ARCADES AMBO. 

Shortly after Malatesta’s return to the city from his walk 
to La Madonna di San Luca, he joined his friend Carlo Man- 
cini, not at one of the cheaper taverns at which the rank and 
file of the students are in the habit of dining, but at a some- 
what more aristocratic hostelry, where rather choicer fare, and 
speciallj’’ a much greater degree of privacy, were to be found. 
The two young patricians had agreed to dine together, that 
Malatesta might communicate to his confidant the result of 
the conversation with Yarani. 

“ All right, old fellow ! ” cried Cesare, as he entered the 
room where they were to dine, and where he found Carlo 
waiting for him. 

“ Oh ! here j^ou are ! It is all right, is it ? I am exceed- 
ingly glad to hear it, and shall be more glad to have my 
dinner. What the devil were you so long about ? ” 

“ I thought I should never have got here. It is slow work 
talking to that Yarani j and I had to go at his pace, you 
understand.” 

“ I understand very little about it, except that you want me 
to do a job, my reward for which is likely to be a residence of 


ARCADES AMBO. 


41 


some weeks in the delightful and improving society of a com- 
munity of begging friars, and that I am to be honored by 
having the Varani in question for my colleague iij the busi- 
ness.” 

‘‘ Well ! that is about the state of the case as far as it goes, 
Carlo mio, I confess. You do not suppose that I have any- 
thing to do with such an animal as that from choice ? ” 

“ Well ! I should have thought not ! But I want to have 
a complete programme of the little comedy you propose pre- 
senting to ‘the refined public and illustrious garrison of Bo- 
logna,’ as the playbills say. For, there is another fear in the 
matter which gives me far more uneasiness.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” asked Malatesta, quickly. 

“ Why, I mean this. It seems to me that you are getting 
into dangerously deep water. What will the March ese Salva- 
dore, your respected father, say to me, and what will my own 
father say to me, if I aid and abet you in marrying yourself 
in sad and serious earnest to a little nobody, without a penny 
or a name, that any one ever heard of? ” 

“ Carlo mio,” returned Cesare, finishing his soup, and paus- 
ing to fill and drink a glass of wine before he replied, “ do you 
think I do not know, to the full as well as you, all the piece of 
work there would be, not at Fermo only, but at Borne too, if I 
were to be guiltj^ of such an absurdity as you speak of. 
Heaven help me ! I should as soon think of requesting my 
uncle the Cardinal to perform the ceremony for me himself! ” 

“ What in the devil’s name, then, do you want of witnesses 
and all the rest of it ? ” 

“ Have a little patience, and give me credit in the mean 
time for knowing pretty tolerably well what I am about. 
Maddalena, you see, double-distilled darling as she is, has, like 
many women, specially in her class of life, a mass of preju- 
dices, which make her perfectly unreasonable. She owns she 
loves me. She does not doubt my devotion to her. She 
knows what my position and standing are. And yet she will 
listen to nothing unless she is addressed, per Dio! on the 
same terms on which I should, and, worse luck, shall, address 
that not particularly attractive paragon of perfection, the 
noble Countess Cecilia Sampieri, who is destined, in due time, 

to become the Marchesa Malatesta.” 

“ You don’t mean that your little double-distilled darling 
really expects you to marry her ? ” 


42 


ARCADES AMBO. 


“So,” continued Cesare, “under the circumstances, there 
is notliing for it in both our interests, save to please her with 
the appearance of a marriage for the satisfaction of her 
scruples.'^ 

“ Appearance of a marriage ! ” exclaimed Carlo ; “ but it 
seems to me that you are going to make the appearance most 
uncommonly like the real thing.” 

“ You know what a clandestine marriage is, and how it is 
made ? ” 

Yes, per Bacco ! and I know that the knot so tied is tied 
as fast as if all the priests, and altars, and books, and candles 
in Rome went to the tying of it ! ” 

“ Oh, you simple-minded innocent ! what is necessary to the 
making of the marriage besides the priest ? ” 

“ A couple of witnesses, as I know to my cost ! ” 

“ But the witnesses must be of legal age, to be sure !” 

“By Jupiter!” cried Carlo, starting up, and evincing a 
much stronger degree of interest in the conversation than he 
had hitherto manifested, “ that is a dodge indeed. And what 
if the witnesses are not of full age 

“ If either of the witnesses be not of full age, he is not a 
witness.” 

“ Bravo ! ” , 

“ And if the words are not said before the two witnesses re- 
quired by the canon, it is just the same thing as if they were 
never said ! ” 

“ Bravissimo ! ” 

“ And the marriage is nothing but a joke, and no marriage 
at all ! And now does your wisdom begin to think that Cesare 
Malatesta knows what he is about as well as most people ? ” 
“But I am of full age, Cesare, you know 1 ” 

“ I know it, perfectly well ! But Pietro Varani is notB 
“ Now I begin to come in sight of port ! ” 

“ Ah 1 a light begins to break upon your obfuscated mind 
at length ; eh. Carlo mio ? I think that will do, won’t it?” 

“ A dozen auditors of Buota^- could not have planned it 
better. But did you ask that oaf Varani about his age ? ” 
“Why, what do you take me for? Am I a simpleton, a 
greenhorn ? What ! prepare beforehand evidence against my- 
self 1 No ! a sly peep surreptitiously obtained of the Dean of 
Faculty’s Matriculation Book struck me as the surest and 
®The supreme tribunal at Rome, 


ARCADES AMBO. 


43 


safest way of obtaining the n-ecessary information. Pietro 
Varani was born on tlie 29th of September, in the year 1807. 
Can you draw from that fact any conclusion as to his age at 
this present speaking ? 

^‘Well! I suppose one might, in the course of time. I 
should say that the creature must be twenty years and six 
months old.^^ 

“ Galileo could not have solved the problem more accurately. 
Therefore our Varani is not of legal age ; therefore he is no 
witness to the marriage ; therefore the marriage is all moon- 
shine — a might}^ pretty light for playing in, is your moonshine, 
by the way ! — therefore I shall be free to enter into the bond 
of lawful, and, doubtless, proportionably holy wedlock, with 
the Contessa Cecilia Sarapieri, whenever the necessity for ac- 
complishing that destinj'- shall overtake me — Q. E. D. Can 
your wisdom pick any hole in that ? concluded Malatesta, 
triumphantly. 

‘‘^Xo ! the plan seems a good plan,’’ said Carlo, nodding his 
head slowly, and speaking with consideration ; “ I do not see 
any hole in it.” 

“ And now I hope you see, too, the special fitness of this 
Varani for the purpose I mean to put him to. There are 
plenty of fellows under age who would not have refused to do 
me this little service. But, how would it have been when the 
bubble bursts? It would have looked very much as if the 
bubble had been of my intentional blowing. If I bring a 
youngster, a friend of my own, whose age I must be supposed 
to know, and ought at all events to have ascertained, I am to 
blame. I run my head into no such nooses. I take for the 
second witness the intimate friend of the family, whom they 
have known for years ; a fellow, too, who looks as much like 
forty as twenty! It is, in fact, they who bring him as their 
witness ; who must naturally be presumed to know his age, 
and who, at all events, ought to have looked to it. 1 take 
care that my witness, j^-our revered self, shall be of as much 
discretion as years can make him ; which, though not saying 
much, is sufficient for the purpose. Don’t you see the beauty 
of it? Don’t you see how the position of this Varani as re- 
gards Maddalena’s family pulls me through scot free ? ” 

“Admirable! Upon my life, it’s masterly. Davvero,^ 
Cesare, I didn’t give you credit for such a headpiece. Machia- 

« Truly. 


44 


ARCADES AMBO. 


velli might have been proud of you for a pupil. But — one 
more word. Is there no danger that they may look to it, as 
you say, and hit the blot ? 

Che ! ” replied Cesare, with a prolonged intonation of the 
versatile particle, which expressed a whole battery of scoffs at 
the possibility suggested. They ! who are they ? Old 
mother Tacca, who is likely to have about as accurate notions 
of canon law as you have of the penitential psalms ; w'ho 
thinks a marriage is a marriage, and one with alive Marchese 
specially sure to be all right and proper. Or Maddalena 
herself, the truthful little darling ! who, if I were to tell her 
that a good and valid marriage was made by singing Casta 
Diva at midnight to the full moon, would never feel a shadow 
of doubt about the matter. Or, lastly, do you fear the sa- 
gacity and shrewdness of that half-witted creature, Varani ? 
Trust me, any such misgiving would be a bit of practical sense 
far above him ! 

(And if it was equally far beneath him to suspect such a 
deception, it answered Cesare Malatesta’s purpose equally 
w^ell.) 

“No, no; never fear!” continued he; “and, besides, if 
the doubt ha.d struck him, would he not have mentioned it 
when I aske(^ him to be the witness ? Why, I put the text 
of the law into his hand, the great oaf! — taking care, of 
course, that he did not read farther than the exact passage I 
meant him to read. And, by-the-bye, the fact of my having 
done so may be usefully remembered in its proper time and 
, place. No, no ! it’s all right, I tell you ; and as safe as if it 
were done.” 

“But I say, Cesare, talking of being of full age, you are 
under age, you know. Would not that make the marriage 
void of itself?” 

“ Not a bit of it ! In the regular way, the priest would refuse 
to marry a minor without the consent of his parents. But if 
he does do it, it is done for good, and past all undoing. And 
that’s canon law, and Gospel too, I suppose.” 

“ And when is it to come off? and where ? and how ? ” 

And then Cesare explained to his friend all the details of 
the plan, as he had previously told them to Varani ; speaking 
the truth, however, on one point, which he had represented 
falsely on the former occasion. He had told Varani that 
Maddalena had already consented to the plan of the clandes- 


THE SERPENT AND THE DOVE. 


45 


tine marriage. This was not the case. It had not as yet been 
proposed to her. Cesare intended to do so that same evening ; 
and felt sure, as he told his friend, of meeting with no obstacle 
in that quarter. 

About an hour later, the young ra'en, who had deemed it 
prudent to change the topic of their conversation, while they 
were enjo3dng their coffee and cigars at a cafe in ■piazza be- 
hind tlie vast barn-like cathedral of San Petronio, separated 
and Cesare betook himself to the sombre old house in piazza 
of San Domenico, with the intention of explaining (as far as 
might be advisable) his scheme to Maddalena, and receiving, 
as he doubted not, her delighted consent to it. 


CHAPTER lY. 

THE SERPENT AND THE DOVE. 

Malatesta found Maddalena alone with |j>er mother in 
their little sparely furnished sitting-room as usual — as had 
been usual of late ; for since his visits had become constant, 
and he had assumed the position of the acknowledged and 
accepted lover of Maddalena, Varani had, with shrinking 
scrupulousness, abstained from giving any opportunity for 
those varied studies, w^hich used often in that old time, so far 
back in the past — nearly two months ago ! — to bring him into 
the widow Tacca’s room of an evening. 

The widow and her daughter were alone. Maddalena had 
sprung to the door as soon as her strained ear had caught the 
sound of the now well-known footfall on the first flight of the 
third-floor staircase, and had run with the little Roman lamp 
in her hand to meet him on the midway landing-place — only 
to give him the benefit of a glimmer of light in that Cimme- 
rian darkness ! — onl}’- for that, positively. But that little wel- 
coming service had come to be an institution, to which both of 
the lovers attached no little importance. How, indeed, as 
Maddalena had said to her mother, could any one find their 
way up that horrid staircase in the utter darkness? The 
widow Tacca had felt that the credit of her domicile was called 


46 


THE SERPENT AND THE DOVE. 


in question by this confession of one of its weak points ; and 
guarding with far forecasting prudence against the possible 
promulgation of the damnable and heretical theory, that it 
was the duty of the third-door lodgers to light the darksome 
way which led to their abode, had remarked in reply to Mad- 
dalena’s little plea in justification of her nightly trip down to 
the first landing-place, that Signor Varani had alwaj^’s found 
his way up in the dark very well. But Maddalena had replied 
that “ that was so different \ ” So the excursions to the top 
of the second flight were voted absolutely necessary ; and the 
little feet flew down the stairs with an elastic spring in their 
movements which could not have been observed in them a 
couple of months before ; and a new light played like a lam- 
bent flame in the eyes that greeted her lover as he climbed 
the stair, and pretended to be out of breath, to make an excuse 
for protracting those precious moments on the landing-place. 

All this little ceremony of reception, with its usual accom- 
paniments, was duly performed on the evening in question. 
No interruption occurred to mar the perfect fitness of the 
opportunity for making the communication to Maddalena 
which her lover had come determined to make ; and yet he did 
not appear to be in any hurr}^ to enter on the subject The old 
lady sat, as usual, half-dozing over her knitting. It could 
hardly have been that Cesare felt her presence as a restraint 
And yet, somehow or other, he felt that he would rather she 
were not there. There was something in that which he had 
to say, that made it seem more desirable to say it alone, as he 
expressed it to his friend Carlo. 

So he deferred his communication till they should meet in 
the church of San Domenica on the following morning. 
Manjr a time, since Malatesta had established himself on the 
footing of an intimate acquaintance in the widow's family, the 
little-frequented aisles of the neighboring church, or the still 
less-frequented cloister, had served the lovers as a trysting- 
place. There is on the eastern wall of the latter a sepulchral 
stone, remarkable among all the others around it. It is a 
huge slab of red marble, bearing the effigy of a knight in 
chain armor, admirably well cut in high relief. The hands 
are resting on the hilt of a huge two-handed sword; there is 
a couchant lion at the feet, and the face is one of very striking 
nobility and beauty. There is a long inscription in Gothic 
letters below the feet of the recumbent figure, which had 


THE SEKPENT AND THE DOVE. 


47 


often been a source of curiosity and awe to Maddalena. She 
felt certain that the history preserved in these mysterious 
characters must be one favorable to the dead, for the marble 
record of the noble face and figure were abundantly legible to 
her. This stone, which had so often occupied her speculative 
gazing, marked Maddalena’s favorite spot in the cloister — 
more so henceforward than ever. For it was preciselj’’ there 
that slie had received the first explicit declaration of love 
from Malatesta ; and she cherished the fancy in her silly little 
head, that her lover was clearly just such another preux cliev- 
aliar as he who slept below ; for had he not the same noble 
expression, the same majestic presence. And was there not 
haply something more than mere chance in the coincidence 
that he should first have asked her love on the spot where she 
had so often yearned for the S3’'mpathy of some such noble 
heart. And since that day the eastern cloister walk had been 
the favorite meeting-place of the lovers. 

Cesare had as yet said no word to her directly and unequiv- 
ocally’’ of marriage ; but Maddalena had conceived the proffer 
of his love to include and to be, in fact, an offer of marriage, 
as much as if all the details of the ceremony had been talked 
over. 

Why could not Cesare bring himself to tell Maddalena the 
story he had prepared then and there in the presence of her 
mother? He knew well enough that Maddalena was await- 
ing, not impatiently, but still expectingly, some such commu- 
nication from him. Yet there was a secret consciousness, which 
led him to defer till the morrow the explanation he had to 
make, at the cost of severe self-reproach as he walked home 
that night, for a cowardice which, as he said to himself, was 
not like him, and which he had never known before. 

The evening in the sombre little room on the third floor 
ended, as many a previous one had ended, by a whispered 
appointment for a meeting in the eastern cloister walk the next 
morning. 

Of course the difficulties of descending the dark stair-case 
were no less than those attending the climbing of it ; and the 
ceremony of the escort, with the tall lamp held high by the 
ring handle at its summit, wliile the widow was left in the 
dark, had to be repeated. 

“To-morrow, then, amor mio, at nine, when the monks 
will all be in the choir, and the beggars at the convent-gate j 
punctually at nine !'^ said Cesare. 


48 


THE SERPENT AND THE DOVE. 


“ Did I ever keep you waiting, Signor mio ? ’’ whispered a 
swectly-cadenced silvery voice in reply, while the shake of the 
forefinger with which the remonstrance had to be enforced, 
necessitated the setting down of the lamp on the last stair of 
the flight ascending from the landing-place, on which the last 
good night was to be spoken. 

“Never, darling, since that happy day when we took the 
old knight in chain armor into our confidence, and both whis- 
pered a secret to him to keep.” 

“ But now, dearest, you must let me go ! ’’ said Maddalena, 
suddenly awakened to the necessity of returning ’wuth the 
lamp to her mother ; “ what will mamma think ? 

“ Probably that she has more need of the lamp to- knit by 

than we have for doing what she did once, and what she 

knows very well that we are doing now.’’ 

“ Hush ! for Heaven’s sake ! I don’t believe that anybody 
ever did such a thing before in the world ! ” whispered iMadda- 
lena into his ear, as she snatched up her lamp, preparatory to 
tripping hastily up the stairs. 

“ At nine to-morrow, then ! ” he repeated ; and received for 
answer a kiss w^afted to him from the tips of her fingers, as 
she stood on the topmost step, holding her lamp over the ban- 
isters to give him the benefit of its glimmer for yet one fur- 
ther stage of the long wa}^ down. 

He was very fairly punctual to the hour named but Madda- 
lena was there before him. Pie found her standing on her 
favorite spot bj’’ the tombstone of the mailed knight. 

“ Why, Lena !” he cried, as he came up to her, “you look 
as if you were come here to pay ofi’ a long score of penances, 
rather than to meet one w'ho loves you more than all the world 
beside ! Have you never a warming smile for this chilly 
morning ? ” 

“ Do you know, cor mio^' she said, putting out both hands 
to meet his, “ that I w'as thinking whether that cavalier, who 
lived so many hundred years ago, had loved, and married, and 
whether his wife was happ}^, and whether she lay buried any- 
where near him ; — and thinking that the love and happiness 
and the parting were all over now ! Silly thinkings, were 
they not, my own love? ” she added, as her features relaxed 
into the sunny smile he loved to see on them. 

“ That looks like my own Lena ! ” said he, stealing an arm 
round her waist, and snatching a hasty kiss, while a quick 


THE SERPENT AND THE DOVE. 


49 


glance along the cloister assured him that there were no prj’^- 
ing eyes within eyeshot ; “ and is, I flatter myself, the look 
most fitted to listen to what I have to say to you this morning. 
For I have something very important to tell my Lena. I 
flatter myself that what I have to say will please you ; and 
this it is : I have at length, 1 think, succeeded in removing 
all the difiSculties in the way of our marriage, and can venture 
to ask you to become my wife.” 

Cesare had expected tliat this announcement would have 
been received with an outburst of rejoicing and gratitude, and 
he was not a little surprised, and somewhat disconcerted, when 
Maddalena innocently said in reply : Cesare mio ! what 

difficulljes stood in the way, dearest ? ” 

“ Why, the ordinary rule would be that I must have my 
father’s consent; and there is no hope that he would give it 
He has set his heart on compelling me to marrj^ one whom I 
•cannot love, and whom, since I have known you, it seems sac- 
rilege to me to think of marrjung.” 

“ But will it^e possible, my beloved, to marry — will it be 
right to marry against the will of your father?” inquired 
Maddalena, gravely. 

“ I find that we can be married, and tliat by no less a per- 
sonage than the Cardinal Archbishop himself, without any 
consent save our own.” 

“ And of that I think we may make sure ! ” said Maddale- 
na, w’ith a shy, yet trustful glance, that spoke a whole world 
of tender affection and undoubting confidence. 

Cesare had said no more than the truth, however, when he 
had boasted to Carlo Mancini that Maddalena would accept as 
a sufficiently proved fact whatever he chose to assert to her. 
“ But, Cesare,” she added, in reply to his last w’ords, “ will 
the, Archbishop marry us in that manner?” 

He cannot help doing so, my sweet Lena ! he has not the 
right to refuse. The parties go before him anywhere you like, 
and anywhere that you can find him, and mutually declare 
that they take each other for husband and wife, in the pres- 
ence of two witnesses, and the business is done.” 

‘‘ Is that really all ? ” said Maddalena, with a naive sur- 
prise, but without a shadow of doubt in her mind. ‘‘Is that 
a sacrament ? The catechism says, you know, that marriage 
is a sacrament ; and I fancied that it must be done in a 

3 


60 


THE SERPENT AND THE DOVE. 


church, and that there would be kneeling down before the 
altar, and a mass, and a ring, and I don’t know what besides.” 

“ All that is for pomp’s sake, my Lena, just as the carriages 
and the liveries and the music and the feasting afterwards are. 
I have alread}^ taken care to be provided with them. The 
one will be an old and trusted friend of my own and of my 
family, the Conte Carlo Mancini of Macerata, a man whose 
character and position in the w'orld makes him all that could be 
most desired for the purpose. For the other, I have thought, 
dearest, that I should be doing what was agreeable to yourself 
and your good mother in the matter, by selecting your own 
old and valued friend, Varani.” 

How good of you, my love, to think of that ! But you 
are always good and thoughtful,” said Maddalena, looking up 
into his face with a fond smile, and a slight, quickly passing 
increase of color in her cheeks. Yes,” she continued, ‘‘ I 
am sure that will please mamma; she has such a high opinion 
of, and such confidence in, our friend Pietro. And he is such 
a good, honest-hearted creature ; though he is,” she added, 
glancing furtively at her lover’s face with a laugh in her eye, 
accompanied by a barelj^ perceptible little squeeze of the arm 
on which her own was resting, “such a strange, uncouth being 
to look at. Yes ! I shall be glad to have good Pietro Varani 
for the second witness.” 

“ I think it will please poor mamma. I have tried to make 
her understand, and, indeed, she does feel very strongly all 
your goodness and your worth. Still, you know, it may be 
possible, my own, that she does not feel as if she knew 3^11 
quite as I know you (here another little pressure of the arm) ; 
and she may feel a satisfaction in putting her child into the 
hands of such an old and trusted friend.” 

“ That was exactl}' what I felt,” said Cesare, who, well as 
he had pla3’ed the part he had chalked out for himself, had not 
escaped several sharp twitches of the heart-strings at certain 
points of the above colloqu}' ; “ I never imagined that my 
little Lena would need any other protector, guide, or friend, 
than her own, own Cesare.” 

“ Never ! either on this or any other occasion. Never, my 
husband!” said Maddalena, with an almost solemn earnest- 
ness. “ And now, 1113'- Cesare,” she continued, in a lighter 
tone, “you must explain to me all about it — what 3mu propose, 
and when it is to be, and how it is to be done, remembering 


THE SERPENT AND THE DOVE. 51 

.m 

all tlie time that your little loving Lena is as ignorant of all 
that goes on in the world outside her own poor iiome as the 
birds in the hedges ; nay, a great deal more so, for tliey are 
out in the sunshine all da}^ long, and vSee a great deal, and I 
dare say are talking it all over among themselves wlien wo 
hear them chattering so. I know nothing about anything, 
understand. So now begin and tell me everything.” 

And then Cesare, as they strolled slowl}’^ up and down the 
cloister, while she hung on his arm, keeping her eyes fixed on 
his face with an expression of submission as unbounded as if 
she were listening to the decrees of fate, proceeded to tell her 
in detail all the particulars of the plan he had already 
explained to Varani and to Carlo Mancini. 

She hung on his words with fixed attention, uttering no 
syllable of comment, but expressing by her mobile features 
sometimes startled, and sometimes amused, but always wholly 
unmisgiving surprise. 

‘‘ And that is really all ! and people can be married out in 
the open air in a garden in that way ! I think it is very nice 
— much nicer than in a gloomy church ! And the Cardinal 
Mull do it himself! That sounds very grand ! Oh, my owu 
best love ! to think that so vast, so wonderful a difference 
between all the dreary, dreary past and the bright, bright 
future can so easily be brought about 1 ” 

“ Ay, darling ! quickly to be done, and never to be undone ! ” 
said Cesare, sententiously, MLile the reflection occurred to 
him, that one lie w^as but one still, however much enlarged on 
and repeated. 

And there will be nothing for poor Pietro to say ? ” 
inquired Maddalena, Muth a roguish laugh in her eye ; “ I am 
glad of that, because you know he is not always ready to speak 
at the right moment, poor dear Pietro ! ” 

No, no ! he M’ill have nothing to do but to look with all 
his eyes, and listen M'ith all his ears to what we say.” 

‘‘ And your friend the same ? ” 

And my friend the sanm. I have explained to jmu why 
it will he convenient to let it come off* on a Saturday. You 
Mull think next Saturday" too sudden, perl)aps. But there can 
be nothing to prevent us from naming the following Saturday 
for the day that M'e are both to look back on as the most fortu- 
nate of our lives.” 

Saturday week ! ” exclaimed Maddalena, with a sort of 


52 


IN THE CONTINI GARDENS. 


little catch in her breath, such as is caused by the first dash of 
a shower-batli ; “ that seems very sudden too, does it not, 
Cesare ? ” 

“ If you have any reason for wishing to put off ” said 

Cesare, gravely, in a voice almost of displeasure. 

“Nay, my own love ! ” cried she, startled by the unwonted 
tone in his voice ; “ surely your will is my will ! I am your 
own — have I not given myself ? — your own to do wdth as you 
please ! Nor must you think me unwilling or unready to be 
wholly yours because the unexpected nearness of the day 
startled me. Not so ! I have no wish to postpone the day. 
Let it be as you say ! ” 

“ Addio, angiolo mio ! ” she said, as they were about to 
part at the door of the darksome corridor leading from the 
cloister to the •piazza ; “ not now ! the monks are coming out 
of the church,’’ she added, as she gave a little spring from his 
side. 

“ You will meet me on the stairs, then, to-night, and not be 
in such a tremendous hurry to get back to the room as you 
alwaj’^s are ? ” said he, detaining her b}^ the hand. 

“ If you wdll behave discreetly, and not attempt to blow tlie 
lamp out ! ” 

And so Maddalena returned to tell her mother all the won- 
derful things she had heard, dwelling much on the part 
Verani was to act in the matter, which served to comfort and 
reassure the widow completely. 

And Cesare went to join his friend Mancini, to tell him of 
his triumphant success. 


CHAPTER V. 

IN THE CONTINI GARDENS. 

The incumbency of the Archiepiscopal See of Bologna is a 
position of very exalted dignity and importance. The See is 
— or it may be more correct, perhaps, to say was — always held 
by a Cardinal ; and, though not one of the richest prefer- 
ments in the Church, the Archbishop was held, perhaps, to be 


IN THE CONTINI GARDENS. 53 

the most important ecclesiastic with care of souls in Italy, out 
of Rome. 

His Eminence the Cardinal Archbishop was, at the time of 
which I am writing, a very aged man ; but though the quiet 
walk in the avenue of the Contini Gardens, wliich has been 
mentioned, was the extent of physical exertion of which he 
was still capable, time had neither weakened his faculties, nor 
in any degree diminished the venerable majesty of his pres- 
ence. He was singularly tall, very thin, and even slender in 
person, and still perfectly upright. Though his step was slow 
it was still firm ; and though his fine old head, with its long 
sparse silver locks, lofty forehead, and classical features, was 
apt to drop on his breast as he walked in meditative solitude, 
attended by a single chaplain, who walked some half a yard 
in the rear of his superior, he could raise it, if occasion offered, 
with an air of mild, j’-et authoritative dignity and venerable 
majesty, which could not but be felt as strongly impressive, 
even by the most lightminded. 

The Saturday towards the latter end of March, which 
Cesare had fixed for the accomplishment of his project, was 
one of those lovely days which that period of the year often 
produces. 

There could be no doubt that the Cardinal would take his 
walk on such an afternoon. 

It was about two o’clock on that pleasant day when a hack 
carriage passed out of , the gate called the Porta di Saragoza, 
and leaving the long line of arches and the upward path to 
the left, pursued the road at the foot of the hill towards the 
Contini Villa. There were two students in the carriage, and 
though the Sunday, or other festa day, was that more usually 
selecled for suchlittle excursions, there was nothing in any way 
remarkable in the circumstance, that the two holiday-makers 
should be tempted to enjoj’’ the favorite drive on that lovely 
afternoon. 

At the point where the road, which the hack carriage fol- 
lowed, parts from the arcade, which it accompanies after 
leaving the gate for about a quarter of a mile or so, there 
is a sort of little temple formed of four arches supporting a 
small cupola, marking the angle at which the colonnade turns 
from the direction it has hitherto followed and begins to climb 
the side of the hill; so that the arcaded path to the church 
passes through the little building, and the road, which then 


64 IN THE CONTINI GARDENS. 

takes a direction at right angles to the colonnade, continues 
outside of it and under the shadow of its wall. There, so 
placed behind that wall as to be hidden from those passing 
along the more frequented part of the road between the city 
gate and that point, and from any one pursuing the ascent to 
the church, was drawn up a travelling carriage, evidently 
ready for a journey, and waiting for its intended occupants. 
One of the two students said a word or two to the man who 
was half asleep on the driving seat, and was answered by a 
yawning Sta hen,e, Signor!’^ (“all right!”) and the two 
occupants of the hack carriage passed on. 

About half an hour later another hack carriage drove out 
of the city, and drew up on the city side of the little temple- 
like elbow of the colonnade. From this Cesare and Madda- 
lena descended, and dismissing the driver, entered the arcade 
as if about to walk up to the church. As soon as ever the 
man had turned his veliicle, however, and had started on his 
w.ay back to the city, they gave over that pretence, and run- 
ning hastily’’ round to the back of the building, jumped into 
the carriage waiting for them. 

“The Conte Carlo and the other have passed on ? ” asked 
Cesare of the driver, who had evidently received his orders 
previously. 

“ Thej^ have passed half an hour ago ! ” 

“It is all right, Lena darling; we shall find them at their 
post. And I dare say his Eminence won’t be far beliind us.” 

“You must be very indulgent and bear with me, my own ! 
I keep on fancjdng all sorts of things ; — that the Archbishop 
will not come — that he'will send us all to prison instead of 
marrying us — and all sorts of follies. Will 3'ou bear with 
your poor ignorant, cage-bred little Lena, and be very kind to 
her, and teach her and show her how to be worthy of being 
your wife, ray own?” 

Cesare passed his arm round her waist as they sat side by 
side in the back of the carriage, and murmured some words 
of endearment. But it was evident to any more experienced 
eye than Maddalena’s, that he was in a state of considerable 
nervousness himself. 

A very little more than half an hour’s drive brought them 
to the end of this the first stage of their journey. The car- 
riages, which frequently on festa days brought hoiida3'-makers 
from Bologna to the Contiui Gardens, always drove up to the 


IN THE CONTINI GARDENS. 


65 


great iron gateway on one side of the front entrance to the 
villa, and so entered the gardens, which were always profess- 
edly on those days thrown open to the public by tlie liberality 
of the noble owners ; and were never, in fact, shut to any 
who wished to enter on other days. The carriage which con- 
veyed Cesare and Maddalena did not stop at this main en- 
trance ; but passing on followed the road, which skirted the 
long garden-wall, and turned the angle at the farther end of 
it, till it came to a small door in the wall at the extremity of 
the grounds farthest from the city. 

The spot was a very solitary one ; and, as such, well adapted 
for the purpose in hand. The carriage while waiting, drawn 
up under the wall on one side of the small rarely-used door, 
was little likely to be observed; and the “happy couple” 
whom it was intended to carry off far out of the reach of all 
prying eyes, as soon as “the ceremony” to come off on the 
other side of the wall should have been completed, could rejoin 
it in a minute, as soon as the deed was done. The little door, 
in fact, opened not twenty paces from the ilex clump, which 
formed the circular arbor at the extremity of the avenue, 
where the Cardinal took his walk. Malatesta jumped from 
the carriage, said a few words to the driver, and turned to 
help Maddalena to alight. She was trembling, so that it was 
almost necessary to lift her from the carriage. 

“ Courage, darling ! ” he whispered, as with one arm round 
her waist, and clasping her cold and shaking hand in his, he 
drew her to the doorway. “Courage! all is going well 1 A 
few minutes more, and we are man and wife 1 I hope the old 
fellow will not keep us long waiting.” 

“ I hope he will come I” murmured poor Maddalena. 

“Most likely he is in the garden by this time. So take 
care ! Not a syllable after we are on the other side of the 
wall. You know the words you have to say. That is all you 
have to think of. Take care he hears them, that is all.” 

And so sa 3 dng, he lifted the latch of the door, and in another 
moment had cautiously closed it behind them. 

Immediately within it, close to the wall, they found Carlo 
Mancini and Pietro Varani waiting for them. 

“ Has he come yet ? ” whispered Cesare in the ear of the 
former. 

“ We have heard nothing. But we have not stirred from 
this spot;,” replied Carlo in the same tone. 


56 


IN THE CONTINI GARDENS. 


All four then proceeded to creep cautiously towards the 
arbor, listening for any sound of footsteps that might warn 
them of the Archbishop’s approach. All was perfectly still, 
and they took up their position in the circular space in the 
centre of the clump of ilex, close by the side of the clipped 
green wall, and near the point at which the avenue opened 
into it ; so that any person coming up the long walk from the 
other end of it could not see them till he had fully entered 
the arbor. 

So they waited what seemed to all four an interminable 
time. Maddalena clinging to Cesare’s side, and grasping his 
arm with both her little trembling hands, bent her ear towards 
the ground, straining it to catch the sound of the expected 
footsteps which she dreaded, yet was nervously impatient to 
hear. 

Malatesta was evidently nervous himself, though he strove 
hard to appear at his ease. He looked at his watch every 
minute ; and every time the breeze stirred a dry leaf in the 
avenue, fancied he heard the step he was waiting for. Carlo 
Mancini dodged his head here and there, now on tiptoe, now 
crouching to the ground, was striving fruitlessly to catch a 
glimpse of the avenue through the thick clipped underwood of 
laurastinus and bay that formed the lower part of the hedges 
which shut it in ; while Varani, nervously rubbing together 
his great bony hands, as if he were continually washing them, 
stood with his head bent forwards, looking wistfully at Mad- 
dalena, and making a series of uncouth grimaces, which were 
intended to convey to her encouragement and exhortations of 
patience. 

Maddalena’s ear was the first to catch the sounds they were 
all so eagerly listening for. Suddenly she raised her head, 
and lifted a forefinger, looking at the same time so terrified, 
that Cesare, who could feel that her knees were shaking under 
her, feared that she would drop. In another instant, they all 
plainl3" heard the sound of footsteps slowly approaching ; and 
a minute later were able clearly to distinguish the footfalls of 
two walkers. Rapid glances passed between the four con- 
spirators. Varani and Maddalena made a simultaneous move- 
ment, as if they were about to step forward into the open 
space and confront the approaching priests ; but Carlo Man- 
cini, who seemed most to have preserved his presence of mind, 
lifted his two outspread-hands, with a repressing gesture, 


IN THE CONTINI GARDENS. 


67 


warning them all to remain still and mute till the right mo- 
ment should have arrived. If the Archbishop were to catch 
sight of a party constituted as theirs was, in such a place and 
at such a time, a suspicion of the truth might very possibly 
flash upon him ; and he would then unquestionably do his 
best to defeat their purpose. Even if no such idea presented 
itself to him, it was likely enough that if he perceived that 
his privacy was intruded on, he would turn back towards the 
villa and regain his carriage. 

Now the footsteps are evidently near at hand ! Now they 
cease, as the old Cardinal stops to address some observation to 
his attendant chaplain. Is he turning back ? No ! The steps 
come on again — they are close to the ears of the listeners. 
Now ! Now for it ! 

Placidly and unsuspiciously the tall and venerable-looking 
old man stepped forward into the circular area under the ilex- 
trees, and in the next instant was aware of the presence of the 
four young people. It did not appear, however, as if any sus- 
picion of their purpose had flashed upon him. Lifting his 
hand in the attitude of benediction, he was about to turn back 
into the avenue, when Cesare, holding Maddaleiia b}’’ the 
hand, suddenly stepped immediately in front of him. 

The chaplain had been more ready, at the first glimpse of 
the intruders, to guess, or at least to suspect, the nature of 
their errand, and, seeing the possibility that his own testimony 
might contribute to the completion of a deed which the 
Church alwaj’s does everything in her power to prevent, he 
had, with exceeding promptitude, retreated a sufificient number 
of paces to put him safely out of hearing of any words that 
miglit follow. 

The venerable old Archbishop was fairly caught. Throw- 
ing up his open hands above his h^ad, the old man drew one 
hasty step backwards, and there stood as if rooted to the 
ground. 

Lut the short words had been spoken by Cesare and by 
Maddalena. The Archbishop had heard them ; and, accord- 
ing to the theory of the Catholic Church, the marriage was 
alread}^ beyond the power of man to undo. 

“ Audacious insolents ! ” exclaimed the outraged chaplain, 
who, when he saw, though he could not hear, what had passed, 
returned to the side of his superior. 

“Children, children ! what have you done?” cried the aged 


58 


IN THE CONTINI GARDENS. 


Cardinal, in whom the shock of the surprise and distress 
seemed to have overpowered, for the moment, the sense of 
indignation and the duty of reproof. 

Cesare, who wished to hear no more, had endeavored to 
drag Maddalena from the spot as soon as ever the fateful 
words had been spoken. But she, hardly conscious of what 
she was doing, but impelled by an unreasoned feeling of the 
need of a blessing on what she felt to be a sacred act, and by 
the venerable appearance of the dignified old man, had thrown 
herself, as he spoke, upon her knees at his feet. 

Nay, daughter ! ’’ he continued, speaking more calmly, 
and not without severit}^, though still more sorrowfully than 
angrily, how can you ask a benediction from me on the 
deed 3^11 have done ? Doubtless you know that the Church 
disapproves in the highest degree, and the civil law punishes, 
such acts as that of which you have been guilt3\’’ 

“ Your Eminence will, nevertheless, condescend, perhaps, to 
assure m}^ wife that what has been done has made her such 
legally,’^ said Cesare, who feared the elfect of the Cardinal’s 
words on Maddalena’s mind. 

Children ! ” said the old man, severel}', but yet not 
nnkindlj’’, “ misguided and ill advised as 3mur conduct has 
been, ye are assuredl}’ man and wife in the sight of God, in 
the sight of the Holy Church, and of the Law. The Church, 
however reprovinglj’, has joined ye together, and no human 
authoritj’’ can part 3’’ou I” 

Maddalena rose from her knees as he ceased speaking, and 
Cesare, twining one arm round her waist, and whispering some 
adjuration in her ear, succeeded in drawing her be3mnd the 
circuit of green wall which enclosed the spot where this scene 
had taken place, and towards the little door in the garden 
wall, almost before the Archbishop was aware of his intention 
to escape. Carlo Mancini had, immediatel3^ after the binding 
words were spoken, effected his retreat to the other side of the 
garden wall. It had been settled that he should avail him- 
self of a jjlace in Cesare’s carriage as far as a neighboring 
town on a great road, where he could be picked up b3’ a pass- 
ing diligence, and carried out of the probable reach of any 
results likel3' to arise from the infraction of the civil law of 
which he had been guilt3^ He was alread3^ seated in the car- 
riage, when Cesare half carried, half drew Maddalena through 
the little door, and lifted her in, following himself, and at the 


IN THE CONTINI GARDENS. 


59 


same moment bidding the driver lose no time in getting over 
the first stage of the journey, wliich was to take them out of 
the way of tlie hubbub likely to be caused, not only by the 
marriage, but by the discovery, which could not fail soon to 
follow, that it was no marriage at all. 

Pietro Varani had steadily adhered to the determination he 
had expressed to Malatesta, when the proposal of acting as 
one of the witnesses of Maddalena’s marriage was first made 
to him. He refused to leave Bologna, preferring, as he said, 
to avow openly what he had done, and to face the conse- 
quences of it. 

When the others, therefore, had made their escape in the 
manner that has been told, Pietro remained alone in the 
presence of the Archbishop and his chaplain. 

“ Are you aware, 3’’oung man, of the nature of the transac- 
tion in which you have taken a part ?” asked the latter, very 
** stern l3^ 

Pietro replied calmly and succinctly enough, though with 
his usual shy awkwardness, ‘‘A canonical, though clandes- 
tine, marriage.’^ 

Exacth^ so, sir ! And since jmu are so accurately in- 
formed as to the qualification of the act of which you have 
been guilty’,’’ he continued, with increasing acerbity of man- 
ner, “ 3mu are doubtless also aware that the law punishes 
such acts, and is little likely to look with leniency on such an 
audacious and unparalleled a case, as thus insolently entrap- 
ping his Eminence the Archbishop.’’ 

“ I am aware ! ” said Pietro, hanging his head and crossing 
his hands at the wrists in front of him, as if they were fettered, 
in the attitude of one of the old statues of barbarian kings as 
they appeared in the triumph of their Roman conquerors. 

‘‘Very well, sir!” replied the exasperated chaplain. “I 
shall trouble ^mu, therefore, for your name and address, if you 
please.” ^ 

“ Pietro Varani, very reverend sir, student in medicine in 
the University of Bologna.” 

“ Are you a Bolognese, as I gather from your speech, or a 
native of any other part of Italy ? ” 

“ The son of a Bolognese mother, very reverend sir, and 
living with her in the Piazza of San Domenico.” 

“ Very good, Pietro Varani, of the Piazza of San Domenico, 
student of medicine,” repeated the priest, making a note in 


60 


THE TWO WIDOWS. 


some tablets he had drawn from his pocket. You will not 
fail, Signor Pietro Varaui, to wait upon his Eminence the 
Archbishop’s chancellor at the palace, at nine o’clock to-morrow 
morning.” 

“ I will not fail to do so,” said Pietro, still standing in the 
attitude of a condemned criminal. 

“ And if we are able to discover any circumstances which 
may justify us in recommending you to the lenient considera- 
tion of the civil power, young man, it will be grateful to us to 
allow' them their full weight,” added the Archbishop, as he 
rapidly pel formed the ceremony of benediction wdth his jewelled 
fingers, and turned to retrace his steps along the avenue. 

Varani watched the retreating figures of the two priests for 
a w'hile, as if he were rooted to the ground wdiere he stood, 
and then recovering himself by an effort from his reverie, re- 
treated by the little door in the wall by wdiich he had entered 
and slowly began his return to Bologna, feeling as if the only 
light in his world were gone out of it, and all w\as darkness 
and void. 


CHAPTEK VI. 

THE TWO WIDOWS. 

It was dark night before Pietro found himself at the city 
gate on his return from his expedition to the Contini Gardens. 
For pondering on many things, he had wandered away into 
the fields, paying no attention to the w'ay he was going. 

Having stumbled up the dark staircase, and reached the 
tliird floor, his first knock w'as at the door opposite to that of 
his own home. The first duty to be done was to give the 
widows Tacca his report of the completion of the marriage. 

The widow Tacca had made her daughter’s life burdensome 
to her by the exactions of her petty selfishness ; yet she dearly 
and truly loved her child. There w'as something genuinely 
pathetic, too, in the position of the poor little woman, lonely 
there in her dreary room and her solitary home. But her 


THE TWO WIDOWS. 61 

expressions of the sorrow which had fallen upon her did not 
exhibit it on its poetical side. 

‘‘Nobody but me to go to the door now ! ’’ she grumbled, as 
she admitted Varani. “Come in, and shut the door after 3mu, 
if you are going to ! And don’t stand staring in that way. 
You did not expect to find her here, I suppose, did you ? 
Could I stand in m^^ girl’s light ! But it is a cruel loss for 
me ! Did the Archbishop say an^^thing ? ” 

“ He was angry, and threatened. But he said that they 
were married before God and before the Church, and that no 
man could aii}’’ moi*e put them asunder ! ” 

“To think of my Maddalena being married by the Arch- 
bishop ! But what did he threaten ? ” 

“ He said that all those present there before him were pun- 
ishable by the law. It was chiefly liis chaplain who spoke. 
He made me give him my name. I am to go to him to-morrow 
"morning.” 

“ Holy Virgin ! what will happen to 3^11 ! However, they 
cannot undo the marriage ! And what did he sa3’' to the 
others ? ” 

“ The other witness gave him no time to say anything. He 
went off in a hurry as soon as ever the w'ords were spoken by 

Maddalena and her husband. She went down on her 

^ knees before the Archbishop, but Malatesta got her awa3" as 
quickl3’' as he could.” 

“ And what will they do to 3'ou ? ” 

“ Oh ! nothing ver3^ terrible. They may imprison me for 
some months, I believe.” 

“But if you were to la3^ it all on the Marchese ? The3^’d 
never send a Marchese to prison. I’m sure. And if they knew 
that you did it to please him, 3mu would be let off, you may 
depend upon it ! ” 

“ But I did not do it to please him. And now I must go 
and tell my mother about it. Good night. Signora Tacca ! ” 

Varani had spoken throughout this short dialogue in a 
more than calm — in a depressed and almost dreamy sort of 
way, which contrasted strangely with the sharp, querulous, 
ungenial manner of the little old woman. 

“What a queer half-saved creature it is!” muttered La 
Signora Tacca to herself, as she hobbled back to her seat in 
her solitar3’- room, after shutting and bolting the door beln'nd 
him : “ I never could tell what Maddalena could see to like so 


02 


THE TWO WIDOWS. 


much in him, for my part ; but I am glad he was witness to 
the wedding, too ! ” 

Pietro stepped across the landing-place, and was admitted 
at the opposire door by a very different sort of old woman from 
the one he had just quitted. She was not by several years so 
old, in tlie first place ; indeed, hardly to be called an old 
woman, we e it not that her gray hair, the deeply-marked 
lines in her face, and the style of her dress, seemed to justif}'- 
the phrase. At all events, a remarkable-looking woman. Of 
more than ordinary height, and very far more than ordinary 
grace and dignity of bearing and gesture, her figure had a 
majesty about it that might have fitted her to sit as a model 
for a Semirarais. The features of the face, too, were noble, 
and must once have been very handsome ; but the}" could 
hardly be said to be pleasing. There was too much hardness, 
too much haughtiness in the cut, and still more in the expres- 
sion of them. The eye still retained all its fire, and the expres- 
sion*of it was intensified by the thick, straight, black eyebrow, 
which must always have been too strongl}- marked for beaut3% 
The large and well-formed mouth, still retaining its complete 
garniture of regular, well-preserved teeth, was unquestionably 
handsome, but was certainlj^ not pleasing to those capable of 
appreciating the presence or absence from a face of any beymnd 
merely material beaut3^ It was a sarcastic and intensely 
proud mouth. The powerful and strongly developed chin told 
of firmness and great power of will. There was nothing igno- 
ble, nothing mean, low or small, to be found in any line of 
the features, or in any phase of the expressions that passed 
over them ; but it was not a face to conciliate affection, or to 
hold out promise of sympathy". Signora Varani’s feelings 
towards her son were of a strangeh’- mixed kind. Thej’- were 
compounded of love, contempt, compassion, and respect. He 
had ever been a good son ; she was not an unnatural mother, 
and in truth she loved him, though it would not be in accord- 
ance with her nature to sa}' tenderly. There existed, at the 
bottom of the mother’s heart a fund of respect for her son’s 
character, which seems somewhat incompatible with the other 
feelings which have been described. It was produced by 
an almost instinctive appreciation of the force of will, which 
was the principal, indeed almost the only, quality which the 
two idiosyncrasies had in common. But the nature of the 
mother, sympathetic in this respect, if in no other, with that 


THE TWO WIDOWS. 


63 


of her son, had enabled her to feel the presence of the latent 
quality in his character. And it compelled from her a feeling 
of respect, which tempered and struggled with the less favor- 
able sentiments inspired in her by those of his qualities which 
differed so materially from her own. 

Marta Varani was not only a remarkable woman in herself j 
she held a remarkable position, and played a remarkable part, 
in the world in which she lived. And it will be as well to let 
it be clearly understood at once what this position and this 
part were — especially as it may be done in a few words. 

From 1814 up to the recent successful rejection of the 
Papal government bj^ the larger part of the Pope’s dominions, 
the various provinces composing them existed in a chronic 
state of more or less active disaffection, resistance, and rebel- 
lion. More especially was this the case in those provinces 
which are situated on the eastern side of the Apennine 
range of mountains. Of course Europe generall3’', and the 
statesmen of Europe in particular, were aware of this fact ; 
but they were very far from being aware of the degree to 
which 'this fact existed. Europe thought, and the statesmen 
thought, that it was on the cards that things might continue 
as thej' were, and that what had gone on so long, might go on 
for an indefinite time longer. But Europe and the statesmen 
w'ould not have thought so if they had known all that Marta 
Varani knew. 

Her obscure and modest home, in a remote and quiet quar- 
ter, was a regular house of call for conspirators, proscripts, 
liberals, and all at enmity'’ with the government. Her land- 
lord, though ostensibly a well-affected subject, and holding 
himself aloof from all political disturbances, was, like so many 
others, secretly the friend and all^y of the liberal party, and 
well aware of the character and habits of his tenant. Signora 
Varani herself was the trusted agent and medium of com- 
munication between all the most actively" disaffected spirits in 
the country. She might be said to have kept a general 
agency in the treason line, and to have carried on a large 
business as a sedition broker. Not that by such phrases it 
is to he understood that her services to the cause were paid 
services. Such was by no means the case. Her motives of 
action were genuine devotion to the liberal cause, and bitter 
hatred of the priestly government. 

She was a devoted partisan, whose loss it would have been 


64 


THE TWO WIDOWS. 


difficult to replace. Trusty, faithful, prudent to the com- 
pletest degree, she was invaluable to her friends, whether en- 
gaged in hatching plots against tlie authorities, or in escaping 
from tlieir vengeance. 

A life occupied in such a manner, made Marta Yarani a 
suspected person, and acquired for her and her house a promi- 
nent place in the black-books of the political authorities. 
But the caution which she had never once forgotten, and tlie 
trustworthiness of all those who could have proved anything 
against her, had as yet baffled the police, and prevented any 
information respecting her from reaching the ears of the gov- 
ernment, beyond the fact that she was a woman of marked 
liberal tendencies and associations, a bad subject, and a bad 
church- worn an. 

It would be far too strong a phrase to say, speaking in the 
colloquial sense of the words, that Marta Yarani was a de- 
moralized woman. She had many high and valuable moral 
qualities. But she had long been accustomed to consider ‘‘the 
world and the world’s law ” as not her friend. To deceive 
and mislead the administrators of that law, to set its provi- 
sions at defiance, to measure the permissibilty of all acts 
with reference to their tendency to advance a cause which 
was under the ban of the law, had been her mental habit and 
active practice for years. But on the whole it ma}^ be asserted 
that, take her all in all, Marta Yarani was not an altogether 
bad or unestimable woman. 

She did not, however, receive her son graciously, when she 
opened the door to the knock, performed by the toe of his 
boot against the panel. 

“ So ! thy day’s work is done, my son, is it ? ” she said, bit- 
terly. “ It was kind of his lordship to dismiss thee in time 
to get thy supper.” 

‘‘ You know, my mother,” replied Pietro, impassively, 
“ that my motives in forwarding the business that has been 
done this day were not even to oblige the Marchese Malatesta, 
much less to be recompensed hy him.” 

‘‘What call hadst thou to mix thyself in any wise wdth the 
affairs of such as he? Between thee and the Marchese Mala- 
testa there can be no intercourse that is not disgraceful to at 
least one of the parties. Thinkest thou that thou hast ren- 
dered good service to the silly girl who has been caught by 
his lure ? ” 


BEFORE HIS EMINENCE THE ARCHBISHOP. 65 

That, at least, was my sole purpose, mother. Maddalena 
loved him ; and — therefore it was best that she should be 
married to him.” 

“ Thou art to be punished for the Archbishop’s doing, art 
thou ? ” 

It seems so, mother ! ” 

And what of the others ? ” 

They would all be liable to punishment ; but they 
escaped.” 

And left thee to suffer for them, thou poor cheated gaby ! ” 

Nay, mother ! Malatesta, to do him justice, offered me 
the means of escaping also. It was my own will to remain 
and abide the consequences of what I chose to do. It is but 
little they can do to me. What are a few weeks’ imprison- 
ment ? And even that is mostly changed, they tell me, for 
reclusion in a convent of friars. I shall know all about it to- 
morrow morning ; for I am to go to the Archbishop’s Chancery 
*'at ten to-morrow morning.” 


CHAPTER VII. 

BEFORE HIS EMINENCE THE ARCHBISHOP. 

Punctually at nine o’clock on the following morning, 
Pietro Varani presented himself at the Cancelleria of the 
archiepiscopal residence, and was received there by one of 
those peculiar hybrid officials, half lay, half clerical, who have 
been generated by the baneful and unnatural union of the 
spiritual and temporal authorities. The whole race of them 
which swarmed in such loathsome abundance over every square 
mile of the country cursed by priestly rule, under a wonderful 
variety of strange titles, intelligible to no man, save by dint of 
patient study of Ducange and the procedure of canon law, 
was marked by an unmistakable brand peculiar to it. From 
the prelate who, in the character of state prosecutor, strained 
the law against a suspected liberal, to the police official who, 
unable to read the traveller’s passport, pored over the leaves 
of it to see if he could find the blurred stamp with the cross 

4 


66 BEFORE HIS EMINENCE THE ARCHBISHOP. 


keys, which testified that Peter had squeezed his pence out of 
the heretic, Mother Church claimed and marked them all as 
her own. The soul marks which characterise the tribe are 
very well known to those who have had the misfortune of see- 
ing much of them. The more immediately recognisable 
marks which Mother Church places on the bodies of her 
adepts — especially of such of them as sit below the salt at her 
board in their quality of laymen — maj’^ be described as they 
appeared in that specimen of the race which Pietro found in 
attendance at the Archbishop’s Chancery. 

He was of course untonsured ; but strove to dissemble 
the defect as far as might be by wearing a close-fitting black 
skull-cap, such as priests are wont to use for covering their 
heads in cold churches. He could not wear the peculiar neck- 
gear which marks the Roman Levite, but he came as near to 
the appearance of it as he could, by the aid of a wisp of yellow- 
white muslin swathed tightly round the throat. Black camlet 
breeches, greased and rubbed to a shiny polish, small silver 
knee-buckles, and very coarse and rusty black-worsted stock- 
ings, are permissible to layman and clerk alike, and are the 
favorite habiliments of the hybrids between the two. The 
shoes were intensely ecclesiastical. Whether any physiologi- 
cal reason can be found for the fact, or whether any secret 
code of instructions exist in Pope.-land which is imperative 
on this head, certain it is that all the rank and file of the army 
of Mother Church, whether clerical, semi-clerical, or la}", affect 
a speciality in this article of costume of a singular kind. A 
low-cut shoe, nearly as broad as it is long, and equally broad 
in all its parts, is so constant a peculiarity of ecclesiastical 
attire, that “ ex pede Sacristan ” may be said with quite as 
much reason as “ ex pede Herculem ” ever was. It may also 
be remarked that this variety of the human species is very 
frequently plantigrade. The coat has its distinctive character 
too, though I fear I am not tailor enough to describe the 
peculiarity of its cut. It is always what is called a tail-coat; 
but, in contradiction to what seems the natural character of 
that absurdest of all invented garments, the tendency of the 
lay-clerical coat is to run to breadth rather than length. It is, 
of course, black, rusty, and greasy. The waistcoat’s chief 
characteristic is a state of extreme snuff-begrimedness. To 
all this may be added that the hair is cut so as to hang like a 
short square-shaped valance over the forehead, making it 


BEFORE HIS EMINEI^CE THE ARCHBISHOP. 67 


appear mean and low, even if by any unaccountable freak of 
Nature the man have received it otherwise from her hand. 

Such was the individual who received Varani with a malig- 
nant scowl when he presented himself at the Chancery ; — with 
a malignant scowl of course, for such is the natural and ha- 
bitual expresssiori of the features of men who live among 
people by whom they are conscious of being feared, hated, 
and despised. The man motioned him, without speaking, to 
sit down on a bench placed against the whitew^ashed wall ; 
and, when he had kept him there, ostentatiously doing noth- 
ing himself the w'hile, a sufficient time to show the absolute 
insignificance of a mere outer-court Gentile of the people in 
the presence of even the humblest member of the dominant 
caste, he left the office to announce his coming to his superiors. 
Thereupon, instead of being taken into the usual business 
office-room, he was conducted bj^ a back stair into a room on 
the first floor, in which he found the Archbishop himself, 
attended by the same chaplain who had been with him in the 
Contini Gardens on the previous day. His conductor, having 
first made lowly obeisance to the prelate, silently handed a 
folded paper to the chaplain, and then bestowing a parting 
scowl on the delinquent, left the room, and closed the door 
behind him. 

“ Pietro Varani,’’ said the chaplain, a swarthy, gaunt, hard- 
featured man, with a grating voice, looking at his notes as he 
spoke, “his Eminence has chosen to examine himself the sad 
matter which has brought you here, as there are circumstances 
connected with it that give the case a peculiar and disastrous 
importance. I have to warn you that the sole chance of any 
mitigation of the utmost rigor of the law being permitted in 
your case, will depend on your speaking the entire and exact 
truth in reply to all the questions that may be put to you.” 

After some violent preparatory efforts, which caused Varani’s 
features to work like those of a man endeavoring to convey 
his meaning to one entirely deaf bj' the shaping of the words 
wdth his lips, he jerked out, in answer to the chaplain’s warn- 
ing: 

“ I — I alw’ays do that, very reverend sir, whatever chance 
may come of it.” 

“ I hope so, young man !” said the aged Cardinal, gravely. 
“Do so now, and you will be dealt with as leniently as the 
interests of society wdll permit. The Church is ever merciful 
to those who confess, and are sorry for their wrong-doing.” 


68 BEFORE HIS EMINENCE THE ARCHBISHOP. 


“ But I don’t know that I have done anything wrong, your 
reverence — Eminence, I mean ! ” stammered Pietro, becoming 
as he spoke very red in the face, and resting liimself first on 
one foot and then on the other, as if he found the floor too hot 
to stand on. 

“How, sir! not know jmu have done wrong?” broke in 
the chaplain ; “ not know that you have done wrong in aiding 
and abetting a clandestine marriage, and in audaciously sur- 
prising his Eminence the Archbishop himself for the purpose 
of accomplishing it 1 ” 

“ I did' it because I wished to do right, ^mur reverence — 
Eminence, I mean,” said Pietro, resolutel}'^, addressing himself 
to the Archbishop, instead of the chaplain, who had addressed 
him. 

“We shall endeavor to find the means of improving your 
judgment for the future. Signor Pietro Varani!” said the 
chaplain. 

But the Cardinal added, more mildly, “ If you really had 
any motives for acting as you did, which appeared to 3mur 
ignorance to be good ones, let me hear you explain them.” 

“ As far as I see, your Eminence,” said Pietro, twisting his 
features into dreadful contortions as he spoke, “ I did just as 
H0I3’' Church does, and from the same motives ! ” 

“ Take care, ^mung man ; take care what you are about ! 
This is not a place nor a presence for ribaldiy,” thundered the 
chaplain. 

But again the Archbishop said, more mildly, though very 
gravely : “ Speak not lightly, young man, of what it is to be 
presumed you know nothing of. But if you have any serious 
and not irreverent meaning, explain yourself.” 

“ I read in the canons, your Eminence, that the Church 
detests such marriages as I witnessed 3’esterday. And cer- 
tainly, I detested that marriage as much as Hol3’’ Church could 
do. But the Church, nevertheless, makes the marriage and 
holds it good, lest worse might come to pass, if it did other- 
wise. I acted* from exactl3" the same motive.” 

“ Youspeakfar toopresumptuousl3", young man, of the views 
and motives of Holy Church, which, trust me, are be3mnd the 
gauging of 3mur intellect. But it ma3^ be that your motives, 
though erring, were not wholl3^ without good intention. 
Explain them to me further.” 

Thus exhorted, the poor student essa3"ed his best to take a 


BEFORE HIS EMINENCE THE ARCHBISHOP. 69 


correct general view of the considerations that l)ad moved him, 
and to give a lucid account of them. But Ids efforts produced 
only a series of jerking movements of his shoulders, elbows, 
hips, and knees, as if all those joints were suddenly racked by 
rheumatism, together with a thrice-repeated, futile attempt to 
force some utterence from his huge, gaspinglj'-opened mouth. 

“ Take your time, young man ; and reply then to my ques- 
tion,’^ said the Archbishop, more mildly, but still very graveljq 
while the chaplain glared at him malignantly ; “ what were 
the motives that induced you to become a witness to this clan- 
destine marriage ? ” 

Thus encouraged, Pietro was at length able to say in a 
series of disjointed utterances, while the perspiration broke 
out thickly over his knotted forehead, “ I knew he loved her 
— I knew she loved him — I knew he wanted to take her from 
her home without marriage — I feared her weakness — I sought 
to protect her — That was my motive.” 

‘‘ And were you aware that by taking this method of pro- 
tecting her, you made yourself liable to severe punishment, 
and incurred, besides^ the guilt of a heavy sin ? ” said the 
Cardinal. 

“ I was aware that I should be punished, your rev Emi- 

nence ! ” replied Pietro, nodding his head three or four times, 
as if to say that there was no doubt at all about that part of 
the matter. 

“ A verj^ clever bit of protection, indeed ! Signor Varani,” 
sneered the chaplain. “ You take an obscure, worthless girl” 
— (here Pietro performed a contortion that might have rivalled 
the attempts of Frankenstein’s creation) — “ with whom and 
with whose family you and jmurs have been intimate and close 
neighbors for years — (we have all information about you here, 
sir, and it is by no means favorable)” — interposed the chap- 
lain, tapping with his knuckle the paper which the official 
had handed him — “ and you contrive to marry her to a young 
man under age, lieir to one of the largest fortunes and noblest 
names in his Holiness’s dominions. A very well-imagined 
stroke of protection, assuredly ! ” 

“ Your reverence’s informations are false and good for 
nothing ! ” exclaimed Pietro, whose indignation found him 
words readily enough this time. 

“ Audacious insolent ! Do 3mu know in whose presence 3’ou 
stand ? ” cried the outraged chaplain 


70 BEFORE HIS EMINENCE THE ARCHBISHOP. 

In God’s presence, I say that Maddalena Tacca is not a 
worthless girl, but as good and pure a girl as any His eye 
looks down on ! ” said Pietro, lifting his right hand as he 
spoke with energy and emphasis that might have become a 
practised orator. 

A rapid glance was interchanged between the Cardinal and 
his chaplain ; and the latter replied : 

“ Speak reverentl^s young man ! and endeavor to compre- 
hend, if you are capable of doing so, the sense of what is said 
to you. The conduct of the girl is nothing to the point. She 
is worthless as the wife of the Marchese Cesare Malatesta. 
You speak of protecting her. Who is to protect two noble 
families, on every member of which this disastrous marriage 
will bring down shame and sorrow ? ” 

“ It was the duty of the Marchese Cesare to think of that, 
your reverence ; it was my duty to think of the less protected 
girl,” rejoined Pietro, firmly. 

“ Your duty ! And who and what made it your duty, I 
should like to know ? ” retorted the chaplain. 

And then followed a short colloquy in an under tone between 
the Cardinal and his chaplain ; of which the words ‘‘ Malates- 
ta” — “nephew” — “Sacred College” — “ Sampieri of Permo” 
— were all that reached the ears of Yarani. 

“ It is a very sad business ! ” said the Cardinal ; “ a very 
disastrous affair ; and all those concerned in it have sinned 
grievousl3q and rendered themselves, besides, guilty in the 
eyes of the civil power. I am disposed to believe, Pietro Va- 
rani, that you have not been among the most culpable. I am 
willing to hope that your motive was not a bad one ; but it 
might have been attained blamelessly, and, indeed, meritori- 
ously, by simply informing the proper authorities of the dan- 
ge^r you feared, and of the criminal proceedings which were in 
contemplation. Had you done this, all would have been well. 
It is sad to think,” continued the old man, who was himself 
of noble blood and ancient race, and whose sympathies natur- 
ally ran on that side of the case — “ sad to think of all the fair 
hopes yesterday’s bad deed will blast, and all the hcnvy hearts 
it will cause. Let the needful information be taken,” he 
added, turning to the chaplain, “ for the due registry of this 
unhappy marriage.” 

“The name of the young man who escaped, and who acted 
as the other witness?” demanded the chaplain of Yarani. 


BEFORE HIS EMINENCE THE ARCHBISHOP. 71 


Carlo Mancini, a student in the University, your reve- 
ence.” 

“Carlo Mancini,” repeated the chaplain, making a note of 
it ; “ it will be easy to get the requisite particulars concerning 
him. Your own name and address ? ” 

“ Pietro Varani, student in medicine in this University, 
residing in the Piazza di San Domenico.” 

“ Native of Bologna? ” 

“ No, your reverence ; native of Toulon, in France.” 

“Native of Toulon?” said the chaplain, referring for a 
moment to the paper he had before spoken of as containing 
no favorable information respecting poor Pietro — the unfavor- 
able circumstances having reference, doubtless, to the reputa- 
tion for disaffection to the government which attached to his 
mother. 

“ Age ? ” continued the chaplain. 

“ Twenty years last September, your reverence.” 

“ What do you say ?” cried the chaplain, almost shouting. 

“ I was twenty years of age last September, your reverence,” 
repeated Varani, quietly. 

The chaplain flung down his pen, and jumping up from his 
seat, cried, “Your Eminence hears that ! the witness is under 
age ! He can give no valid testimony ! Only one witness 
able to testify was present ! The marriage is null and void ; 
and no harm has been done ! ” And he rubbed his hands 
with triumphant gratification as he spoke. 

It was now Varani’s turn to feel all the miserj’’ of the cir- 
cumstances he had helped to create ; and the horror of them 
rendered him quite insensible to the specialties of the place in 
w'hich he was, and of the persons in whose presence he was 
speaking. 

“ What ! What ! ” he exclaimed, turning ghastly pale, and 
throwing up his arms to their full extent above his head, 
“ what do you say ? Not married ! not legally married ! ” 

“ Assuredly they are not. No ! your shot has missed its 
aim this time, Signor Pietro Varani ! and. Heaven be praised, 
there has been no harm done ! ” 

“No harm done!” shrieked Varani; “no harm done! 
Man, man ! is the destruction of that hapless deluded girl no 
harm done ? ” 

“ You are strangely forgetting yourself and the position in 
which you stand, young man,” said the chaplain j “ but I can 


72 BEFORE HIS EMIN^:^'CE THE ARCHBISHOP. 


make allowance for the disappointment of finding that the 
trap laid for another has, on the contrary, ensnared the lady 
who had the advantage of your ‘ protection.^ The next time 
you presume to read the canon law, you would do well to read 
it to somewhat better purpose.^’ 

Fool ! fool ! stupid ignorant dolt that I have been ! ” ex- 
claimed the miserable Pietro, in an agony of self-reproach 
and despair. 

“ It would seem so, truly! ” said the chaplain, malignantly, 
rubbing his hands the while with irrepressible gratification. 

“Young man,’’ said the Cardinal, over whose face a shade 
of displeasure had passed while his chaplain had been speak- 
ing, “ though I am bound to rejoice that tlie sin which you 
and jmur accomplices intended to commit j^esterday was not, in 
fact, committed ; and, though there can be ho doubt that the 
marriage it was sought to make would have been for very 
many reasons a most disastrous one ; nevertheless I can sj^m- 
pathise with your manifest distress, and believe it to proceed 
from an honest feeling. I pray that the event may be a les- 
son to 3’ou for life, teaching ^mu that no good can come from 
sin against the ordinances of the Holy Church.” 

“ Of course, your Eminence, there is nothing more to be 
done in the maUer of the registry ? ” said the chaplain. 

“ It is ver}^ clear,” replied the Archbishop, “ that there has 
been no valid marriage, and, therefore, there can of course be 
nothing to register. But it is not equally clear that the mis- 
fortunes which would arise from a valid solemnisation of the 
marriage in question, are yet finally avoided. This ill-advised 
young man having, by reason of this unintentional error, done 
a grievous wrong to the woman he purposed to make his wife, 
ma}^ ^’^et repair that wrong.” 

“ Your Eminence will kindly pardon me if I venture to 
point out that the books are very clear and precise on this 
point,” said the chaplain, with the brisk sharpness of a law\^er 
who has all the criminal law at his fingers’ ends, and can refer 
to his act, chapter, and section with the promptitude of the 
snap of a spring trap. “ Your Eminence will remember that 
the best authorities concur in holding that no reparation is 
due from the seducer who shall have accomplished his object 
by means of a false promise of marriage, in cases where the 
man is much richer or higher in rank than the woman so in- 
jured, or where disgrace would ensue to the family of the man 


BEFORE HIS EMINENCE THE ARCHBISHOP. 73 


from a marriage with his victim. Your Eminence is aware 
that in such cases Holy Church holds that no reparation is 
due. And it is too clear in the case in question, both that the 
status of the Marchese is infinitely superior to that of this 
nameless girl, and that indelible disgrace would fall on his 
family from a marriage with her.” 

Yarani, who had listened to this exposition of the doctrines 
of the Church on the subject in view with unspeakable aston- 
ishment, and who looked, when the chaplain ceased speaking, 
as if he really doubted whether his ears were not deceiving 
him, stood staring at him for some moments, absolutely speech- 
less from the violence of the various emotions which were 
struggling in him for expression. 

Is that the teaching of the Church ?” he said at last, in 
an under tone of absolute liorror. Is it ? ” 

“ It is so, mv son ! ” said the Cardinal ; “ but it is necessary 
to ” 

But the boiling indignation of Yarani could be contained 
no longer by any effort it was in his power to make. 

“ Then,” cried he, gesticulating violently, and pouring forth 
the passionate abhorrence that mastered him, heedless of all 
consequences — “ then I deny and renounce the Church ! I 
renounce my baptism ! I renounce all Christianity and all 
Christian doctrine. I will believe in some other God than 
yours, and find some more righteous interpretation of His 
will.” 

“ Silence ! mad boj’’, silence ! and load not your soul with 
blasphemies ! ” cried the Cardinal. Presumptuous and igno- 
rant as you are, learn to believe that in whatever matter it may 
seem to your short-sighted foolishness that the teaching of the 
Church is other than you would have supposed it, it is your 
halting capacity, and not her Heaven-guided wisdom, which 
is at fault. I pardon the rash sin of your insensate words in 
consideration of the misfortune which has fallen upon you. I 
trust that you will heartily repent of having uttered them. 
With regard to the words I used respecting the possibilities of 
a future valid marriage between the parties in question, it is 
to be understood that I spoke not of what the Church would 
require him to do, not even perhaps of what it would be jus- 
tifiable in him to do, but of what it might probably be bis 
wish to do.” 

Your Eminence,” observed the chaplain, it is hardly to 


74 BEFORE HIS EMINENCE THE ARCHBISHOP. 


be supposed that either his son’s attempt to make a clandestine 
marriage 3^esterday, or the result of our investigation to-da}’’, 
which shows that happil}^ the attempt was futile, will fail very 
shortly’ to reach the ears of the Marchese Salvadore Malatesta 
at Fermo. But in any case it will be our dut\’^ to afford the 
Marchese full information of all the circumstances, as well as 
to bring them to the knowledge of the young man’s uncle, the 
Cardinal. Of course no regular marriage can be made, even 
should the 3’’oung Marchese be sufficiently infatuated to attempt 
it, in spite of his father’s opposition and prohibition. There 
would remain no danger save that of a repetition of the 
attempt of yesterday. And it will be a matter for considera- 
tion in the proper quarters whether it raa3’^ not be desirable to 
obviate an3’^ such danger, and secure the peace of mind of two 
worth3^ families b3'- a seclusion of the — female in question, for 
such a time as shall allow her opportunity for repenting of her 
disgraceful conduct. With the permission of your Eminence, 
I will make it my dut3^ to communicate with the Marchese 
Salvadore, and with the Cardinal. As for this deluded young 
man ” 

“ With respect to this 3"Oung man,” interrupted the Cardi- 
nal, rising, with a deep sigh, from his chair as he spoke, “I 
hope that the result of this day’s inquir3’ in a3’’ teach him more 
effectually than m3^ words might have the power to do, that 
any good and righteous object ma3^ be served b3’ acting in 
accordance with the precepts of the Church and the orders of 
the civil government, but that only disaster and trouble can 
come of any attempt to act in opposition to them. It is my 
belief that his object in this unhappy business was not a 
blamable one. It is my sincere trust that reflection will lead 
him to repent deeply of the inconsiderate expressions which 
have been wrung from him in this room b3’^ the bitterness of 
his disappointment. I enjoin him to make those rash words 
the subject of special confession to his director. Should the 
civil authorities, in the exercise of their paternal vigilance, 
deem it their duty to hold him responsible for the share he 
took in yesterday’s affair, I have nothing to sa3" to it. But, 
under all the circumstances of the case, and seeing that no 
result has in fact followed from the deception practised upon 
me, I shall not consider it m3' dut3^ to make any communica- 
tion on the subject to them.” 

Making the sign of benediction as he finished speaking, 


AT FERMO. 75 

the Cardinal Archbishop left the room by a door opposite to 
the one by which Varani had entered it. 

‘^Thanks to the more than paternal indulgence of his Emi- 
nence, you may go, Pietro Varani,” snarled the chaplain, 
enunciating the name slowly and carefully, as if inviting at- 
tention to the fact that he was impressing it on his memory. 
‘‘ You may go,” he continued, “ and communicate to tlie 
mother of the girl Tacca the result of 3’our ‘ protection ’ of 
her daughter, and of the attempt to entrap into a marriage 
the heir of one of the wealthiest noblemen in the countiy. 
You may mention, also, that due care will be taken to save 
the girl from further descent on the path of profligac3\ It 
remains to be seen whether the leniency of his Eminence to 
yourself be not so far misplaced as to lead you before long 
into bringing yourself” — tapping once again the paper that 
had been before alluded to as he spoke — “ into yet more un- 
*• pleasant collision with the authorities of the government. 
You may go.” 

And poor Pietro went. There was too crushing a weight 
of anguish at his heart for it to be possible to him to attempt 
any w’ord of repl3’^ to the insults and injustice of the chaplain, 
whom he considered, indeed, to be acting only according to 
the well-known nature and habits of his kind. The forbearing 
clemency of the Archbishop would have been far more a sub- 
ject of marvel to him, had he had room for any thought in 
his heart or brain save that of the horrible task which lay 
before him. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

AT FERMO. 

In the September of the 3"ear in which the events that 
have been related occurred — about six months, that is to sa3^, 
after the date of them — the 3mung Marehese Cesare Malatesta 
found himself in that gloomy old family mansion in the city 
of Fermo, the dreariness of which as a residence had appeared 
to him, it may be remembered, so fitly matched with the 


76 


AT FERMO. 


dreariness of lawful marriage as a condition of life. It was a 
gloomy residence undeniably, and the archiepiscopal city of 
Ferrao is a gloomy city. But it was very grand, very large, 
and ver3’- worshipful. And several generations of the Mala- 
testa race had lived and died there, deeming it better to rule 
in Fermo than serve in Borne. The present Marchese, how- 
ever, Gesare’s father — the Marchese Salvadore — had thought 
differently ; and according!}", with the exception of a couple 
of months in autumn spent between the old familj" mansion 
in the city of Fermo, and the villa on the coast of the Adriatic, 
which bounded the Malatesta estates for many a mile, lived 
constantly in the Eternal Git}". 

The habitual absence of the famil}" was not calculated to 
mitigate the depressing air of dismal sombreness which per- 
vaded the house. Nor did the absence of any lady from the 
household of the Marchese Salvadore, who had been a wddower 
for many years, fail to contribute to the same result. It was 
a huge pile of building, showing a range of thirteen large 
windows on each of the three floors — (counting the ground 
floor for one) — of its fagade, which looked on the narrow, 
gloomy, miry, tortuous sB’eet, which forms the main artery 
of the city. Fermo is as dull and sombre-looking as a town 
as the Malatesta Falazzo was gloomy and dreary as a dwelling. 
It is squalid, dirty, dilapidated, poverty-stricken as the cities 
that live under Fontiflcal rule are wont to be. Fermo is the 
wealthiest See and cathedral chapter in all Pope-land ; and 
is accordingly, one of the shabbiest and most poverty-stricken 
of its cities. It possesses, however, one thing that no amount 
of ecclesiastical misgovernment has been able to take from 
it — it has a magnificeixt position. Situated about three miles 
from the coast of the Adriatic, on the summit of a lofty iso- 
lated hill, the topmost rocky peak of which is crowned by the 
ancient cathedral, it commands a superb panoramic view over 
the picturesquely broken ground landwards, diversified by a 
singular number of less lofty eminences, each bearing its 
townlet on its head — townlets once thriving towns, with names 
famous, all of them, in mediaeval, many of them in Boman, 
and some in still more remote Etruscan story ; over the rich 
alluvial slip of lowland along the coast; over a boundless 
sweep of the restless Adriatic ; and (in some conditions of the 
atmosphere) even over the far mountains of opposite Dalma- 
tia. And the huge Malatesta Palace, partaking, as has been 


AT FERMO. 


77 


said, of the drear}' character of the city, partakes also of this 
its one advantage. Situated in the upper part of the town, 
close to the base of the protruding topmost rock, on which the 
cathedral is built, its position and superior height enable the 
upper story of it to command a view over the rest of the city 
and over the town walls, which girdle the hill-top at a some- 
what lower level, and, consequently, over the immense expanse 
of coast and sea. 

The advantages thus possessed by the Malatesta Palace had 
been turned to the best account by some long since forgotten 
ancestor of the family, whose real and permanent home the 
Fermo Palace had been, by the constructi-on of an open loggia 
on the top of the lofty pile of building. This appendage to a 
city palace, still so frequently seen, and once almost universal 
in the Tuscan towns, is not common on the other side of the 
Apennines ; and the unusual construction had evidently been 
..prompted in the case in question by the extreme beauty of the 
vantage spot thus acquired, and the luxurious enjoyment it 
promised to the town-pent-up owners of the dwelling. In the 
warm and lovely autumnal nights, when the streets of Fermo 
were stifled by the shut-up heat, and reeking with noisome 
vapors and effluvia of all sorts, the loggia on the top of the 
Malatesta Palace, far above all the multiplied oftences to ears, 
ej'es, and nose, with which the close city abounded, luxuriated 
in the soft but fresh breezes from the Adriatic, and the eye- 
repoise of the outlook over its sail-dotted deep blue waters. 

Nevertlieless the loggia was rarely visited by the present 
inmates of the palace. The Marchese Salvadore had not once 
ascended to it since his arrival from Pome, and the Cardinal 
his brother, who had this year accompanied him from the 
Eternal City to Fermo, was even less likel}' to do so. 

In the first place, the Marchese was not there for enjoyment. 
His annual visit to Fermo was a necessary bore and annoyance, 
only in some degree compensated by the desirableness of quit- 
ting Pome during the hottest months of autumn. He was 
there, firsfly, because noblemen and large landed proprietors 
always did go to their estates in the autumn. Secondly, he 
was there to grumble with his “ mtendente over the bills for 
repairs needed to prevent the old house falling altogether into 
ruin; to go with his fattore’^ over his farms, and try to 
seem as if he knew something about the value and the man- 
agement of them, and to see reasons for demanding an increase 


78 


AT FERMO. 


of rental from them ; to vvholl}'^ fail in both these attempts, 
and to vent his annoyance in impotent snarling and wrangling 
with the fiittore^ who, he knew very well, was robbing him, 
but from whose meshes he was quite powerless to escape. 

Furthermore, the Marchese was not likely to visit the loggia 
of his palace, because he had a feeling that it was infra dig. 
to go up so many stairs, among garrets and such-like places. 
The proper place for a nobleman to abide in was the piano 
nohile ” * of his palace ; and there accordingly he abode. In 
one small corner of it, at least — a little, meanly-furnished room, 
forming no part of the grand facade, but looking into the 
interior of the court-yard of the building, and doubly gloomy 
and dismal accordingly. There the Marchese usually lived 
during his Ferrao season of purgatory on ordinary occasions, 
while the magnificent suite of fine, but comfortless-looking 
rooms, which extended along the whole of the front of the 
piano nohile, as well as the immense central hall of the palace, 
were kept closely shut. 

This was the practice of the Marchese on the ordinary 
occasions of his visits to Fermo. But there were very visible 
symptoms that the present was not an ordinary occasion. 

In the first place, his Eminence the Cardinal had accom- 
panied his brother from Borne, as had been said. What did 
this mean ? Something very much out of the common way 
it was quite certain. The head of a noble territorial family 
in Pope-land is the elder brother, as elsewhere. A poor Abate 
dei Marches! Malatesta, or even one far from poor, is a very 
different personage from 11 Marchese Malatesta. But should 
this Abate attain to a scarlet hat, the relative position of the*^ 
two brothers is entirely reversed. The scarlet hat of him still 
hangs for man}^ a generation in the family chapel of the 
neighboring cathedral suspended from the lofty vault by a long 
cord — scarlet no longer by reason of the accumulated dust of 
years, but still authentically the emblem of Eminence long 
since gone to its reward in a still sacreder college, where dust 
does not accumulate. 

And now “ the Cardinal ’’ had come for the villeggiatura to 
Fermo, the state bedroom of the palazzo having been by 
special order, sent beforehand by the Marchese, prepared for 
him. Evidently something was in the wind. Other remark- 

o The first floor of an Italian palace is thus called. 


AT FERMO. 


79 


able phenomena might have been observed also within the 
Malatesta Palace. The shutters of all the windows from one 
end to the other of i\\Q piano nobile w^ere open. Such a thing 
had not been seen in Fermo since the death of the Marchesa. 
A number of servants had been brought down from Pome, 
some in the service of the Cardinal, and some in that of the 
Marchese, evidently more than could be needed for the service 
of the noble brothers in the countrj'. But several others also 
had been hired bj'^ the ^Hntendente'^ in Fermo; and on the 
morning of the September day of which mention has to be 
made, that busy and anxious official was engaged in the ne- 
cessary but puzzling task of fitting these recruits with the 
family liveries. 

It was in a fair-sized and very lofty room on the ground 
floor, looking into the street, that this business was being 
transacted; not looking into the street, by the way, for the 
,, window was at such a height from the floor that the tallest 
man could not look from it into the street ; nor could those 
in the street peep into the room. The great entrance of the 
palace, under the middle window of the piano nobile, with its 
heavy iron-railed balcony, had six ground-floor windows on 
each side of it, and each window lighted a separate room. It 
was in one of these that the queer scene which has been men- 
tioned was passing. 

One entire side of the room was occupied by a range of 
deep walnut-wood presses, most of the doors of which were 
standing open, and exhibiting to view a wonderful quantity of 
strange-colored garments. One cupboard was filled with in- 
numerable pairs of very bright yellow breeches ; another, with 
light green waistcoats ; and two others, with coats mainly of 
yellow, but with collars, cuffs, and pocket lappets of green. 
Both waistcoats and coats were adorned with an immense pro- 
. fusion of very coarse, but verj" showy and broad, worsted lace 
of all the colors of the rainbow, and with huge pewter buttons 
stamped with the armorial bearings of the Malatesta. All the 
garments were made of an extraordinary coarse serge, and 
seemed to be so stiff* as to act with an entirely incapacitating 
eff'ect on the limbs in^ircerated in them. The names of the 
men for "whom the}’’ had originally been made remained very 
legibly written by the hand of some former “ intendente ” on 
parchment labels attached to each article. But the original 
wearers had long since followed former generations of Mala- 


80 


AT FERMO. 


testas to the grave, and now the problem to be solved was 
how to adapt the gaudily-colored finery to the limbs of all 
lengths and sizes of the new comers. 

A very powerful odor of camphor pervaded the room, the 
result of precautions against moths and decay, which had not 
been entirely successful. Every here and there the thick 
coarse serge showed symptoms of being honeycombed by those 
enemies of layers up for the morrow. But, as the inten- 
dente ” said, the general effect was the object ; and such micro- 
scopic deficiencies would hardly damage it. But the difficul- 
ties attending the assignment of the garments among the men 
to be clothed was excessive. As fast as each individual was, 
more or less in defiance of the length and breadth of his body 
and limbs, inducted into a suit of the Malatesta colors, he was 
ordered by the old intendente^^ to be off into the open air to 
blow the scent of the camphor off him. Seven hapless indi- 
viduals had thus been bound in green and yellow, and the 
eighth, an extra tall and stout man, was struggling desper- 
ately against an evident case of material impossibility, when 
the last of the dismissed seven returned to the room with a 
letter which the post had just brought for the Marchese 
Cesare. 

Bravo, Giovanni ! ’’ said the intendente^ taking the letter, 
and examining it curiously ; ‘‘ good lad ! This looks as if jmu 
had the making of a gentleman’s servant in you. You brought 
me the letter to know what should be done with it. One of 
those dunderheads of coyitidini* would have bolted up-stairs 
with it and stuffed it into the Marchesino’s hand in the face of 
his father and the Cardinal ! But you say to yourself, there’s 
a common sense in these things. How can one tell when and 
where to hand a letter to a gentleman unless one knows who 
it comes from ? A big letter, now, with a big seal, and the 
Sampieri arms on it — that’s one thing! Up with it to the 
salotto,'\ and, says you, with a great bow, and loud enough 
for the Marchese and the Cardinal to hear every word, ‘ A 
despatch, Eccellenza, from the noble Marchese Sampieri ! ’ 
and jmu hand it him with a flourish. But a little letter with 
a little seal, and the post-mark Belfigre presso FolignOj is 
quite another matter. Bravo Giovanni ! ” 

‘‘You see, Signor hitendente^^^ replied Giovanni, knocking 
down his rising fortunes, as so ninny others have done, by 

® PeasaDts. t Small sltting-rodm. 


AT FEKMO. 


81 


saying a word too much, the postman gives me the letter at 
the door, and goes off without saying ever a word who ’tis for; 
80, not having the advantage of reading, I brings the letter to 
you ! ” 

“Oh! hum! that was it, was it? You can’t read, eh, 
Giovanni? I was thinking you had some gumption in your 
noddle. Any way, you did well to bring the letter to me. 
You may leave it with me. Yes, yes ! ” continued the old 
man, muttering to himself, “I know who the letter from Bel- 
fiove presso FoUgno is from. I had better give it him when 
he is alone. Not that the padrone* and his Eminence the 
Cardinal don’t know all about it ! To be sure they do ! Boys 
will be boys, and we’ve all been young once. But decency is 
decency; and everything always was done decently in this 
house. This is the third of these little letters! Well, well! 
It’s all according to nature and rule ; and no harm’s done. 

**0nl3% these little letters mustn’t go on a-coming here ; or else 
there’ll be trouble and discredit. Let alone the padrone, and 
speciall}’ the Cardinal, to take care of that.” 

Cesare Malatesta, who, it will have been perceived, had 
already reached that fated point in his career to which he had 
looked forward with so much repugnance and resignation, 
when talking with his friend Carlo Mancini six mouths ago 
at Bologna, escaped as quickly as he could from the confer- 
ence with his father, and that far greater big-wig and family 
authority, his Cardinal uncle, which he was expected everv 
morning to attend for the discussion of all the infinity of 
petty details concerning the ceremonial of his coming mar- 
riage. As he sauntered down the great staircase, leaving the 
seniors still in deep consultation on questions of precedency 
and abstruse points of etiquette as regarding the rival preten- 
sions and dignities of the two houses of Malatesta and Sam- 
pieri, the old intendente waylaid him at the foot of the stair, 
and put the letter into his hand, whispering with ostentatious 
caution, “ A letter from Belfiore, jmur Excellency ! I thought 
it best to wait till your lordship came out of the salotto to give 
it you.” 

“ Thank you, Battista ! It is all right ! ” said Cesare, 
taking the letter with an air of as much unconcern as he could 
muster, but changing color very perceptibly as he did so — a 
manifestation which was by no means lost on the old inten- 


5 


9 Master. 


82 


AT FERMO. 


demte. He made a show of strolling on towards the door of 
the palace ; hut as soon as the old man had shufded back to 
his magazine of old liveries, family plate, and state trappings 
of all sorts, he turned, and, springing up the stairs, hurried to 
the unbroken privacy of the loggia^ which has been described, 
to read his letter unobserved and uninterrupted. 

A third letter from Belfiore ! Is it necessary to sa}’^ much 
about the writer of it ? Having described the spring-tide, is 
it needful to explain that some six months later, when the 
wintry winds begin to blow, the leaves will fall ? Or may the 
fact of the occurrence of that phenomenon be left to the sagac- 
ity of the experienced and discriminating reader ? 

Yes ! Maddalena’s spring had come, and gone, unreturn- 
ing ! Her one short summer-time had passed away, and the 
long winter of the heart, which no re-budding greener}^ should 
ever visit, no warmth of returning spring-tide should ever 
more brighten, was at hand — all in sequence normal and cer- 
tain as that of the seasons themselves. 

If any traveller journeying from Koine to the Adriatic 
coast by the celebrated pass of the Furlo, will, when after 
passing through Foligno he begins to ascend the side of the 
Apennine, look down into the little valley on his left, he may 
see the scene on which this tragedy was played out. True, it 
is verj?^ like telling him that he may see men and women 
with heads on their shoulders, or chimneys with smoke com- 
ing out of them ! The thing would be to tell him where he 
might see a city, town, village, or hamlet, in which no such 
tragedy had been played ! 

Still, Belfiore is worth looking at for its own sake. It is 
impossible to conceive a spot better fitted for the first act of 
the drama that has been spoken of. For the latter ones any 
place will do ! Nestling close to the foot of the Apennine in 
the embouchure of a narrow valley, which there opens into 
the great basin of the Tiber, it presents to the eye an oasis of 
green amid the somewhat arid and severe slopes of that dis- 
trict of the Apennine. When the stone-colored mountain-side 
above it is parched and cracking in the summer sun, and the 
wide, flat expanse in front of it, with its cities in the distance, 
is whity-brown with dust and drouth, this favored spot, 
watered by the rill from the hills which has made the little 
valley, and sheltered by the overhanging side of the mountain, 
is always green, and fresh, and umbrageous. The road, though 


AT FERMO. 


83 


it passes over the hill above in sight of it, does not indiscreetly 
approach it. Chance cannot'bring any one to Belfiore. None 
come there save those who start from Foligno with the express 
purpose of going thither. 

Cesare Malatesta had more than once noted all these special- 
ties of the place, as he passed in sight of it in journeying to 
and from Rome ; and thither, on leaving Bologna after the 
marriage in the Contini Gardens, he had carried his bride. 
There he had run through the usual gamut-scale of ecstas}^, 
satiety, ennui, irritability, disgust. There Maddalena had gone 
through the corresponding passages of the old, old duet — the 
dream of perfect bliss ; the first startling pang of the still dis- 
credited perception of change ; the gradually growing agony 
of doubt ; the numbing advance, creeping slow but sure, of 
the conviction that all was lost ! Thither had followed tliem 
the news from Bologna of the discovery of the nullity of the 
** marriage — kept from her by Malatesta for a while, and pro- 
educed only when the action of the drama had advanced far 
enough to make it desirable. And thence she was now writ- 
ing to him for the third time. 

It will be seen from the letter which the intendente had 
delivered to Cesare that the waters of despair had not yet 
completely closed over her. The illimitable trustfulness, 
which, in such natures as that of Maddalena, necessarily 
accompanies the giving of their virgin love, had not yet been 
wholly killed. She was still struggling with the convictions 
which grew upon her like the irresistible growth of some 
hideous malady. When the statement from Bologna, that her 
marriage was no marriage at all, had been communicated to 
her, she had recalled to Cesare the solemn words of the Arch- 
bishop, so emphatically declaring that the marriage, although 
reprehensible, could not be broken by any human authority ; 
and had refused to credit the assertion. At the worst, there 
would but be, she conceived, the necessity of re-performing the 
ceremony in a more solemn and proper manner. And Cesare 
had only dared cautiously and graduall}’’ to put the idea before 
her, that, if indeed the Bologna ceremony should prove to be 
invalid, his family would doubtless find the means of effectu- 
ally preventing him from repeating his marriage with her. 

At last, a few weeks before that September day on which 
her letter, the third she had written him, arrived at Ferrao, he 
had left her. The nearness at hand of the time eventually 


84 


AT FERMO. 


fixed for his marriage with the heiress of the Sampieri, and 
the annoyance, which he felt day by day more intolerable, of 
listening to his victim’s anxious hopes and fears; of submit- 
ting to endearments whicli no longer awakened any feeling 
in him save the conscience-pricking sense of his own unwor- 
thiness of them ; and of striving to quiet her for the nonce 
by the reiteration of a string of falsehoods, had combined to 
make his departure from Belfiore not only a necessity, but a 
very welcome one. Very soon after his arrival there, when 
he had learned by letters from Mancini the result of Varan i’s 
interview with the Archbishop, and had acquired the certainty 
that the story of his escapade had been communicated to his 
family, he had written to his father, telling him of the place 
of his retreat, and explaining that the little comedy of the 
marriage had been only one of those stratagems wliich are 
‘^all fair in love affairs.” He had begged his father to believe 
that he was incapable of the wickedness of bringing such a 
disgrace upon the family name as such a marriage, had it 
been real, would have inflicted ; and had shown, not without 
some natural manifestations of conscious pride, all the well- 
contrived precautions he had taken to avoid the possibility of 
any such danger. Finally, he had expressed his dutiful read- 
iness to merit his father’s full forgiveness for his little escap- 
ade by submitting entirely to his wishes in the matter of his 
union with the Contessa Cecilia. 

An interchange of several letters between the father and 
son had followed, by means of which it was finally arranged 
that the marriage should be celebrated at Fermo towards the 
end of the ensuing September ; and Cesare had undertaken, 
less unwillingly than he had once thought it possible for him 
to go to the fulfilment of his contract with i?he Lady Cecilia, 
to present himself at the paternal palace about the beginning 
of that month. 

When that time came, therefore, he had left Belfiore, allow- 
ing Maddalena to suppose that his visit to his father was with 
a view to endeavoring to remove the difficulties in the wmy 
of a second more regular marriage betw^een them, and had 
started on his way to Fermo, full}^ purposing never to look on 
her face again. 

Ho communication had passed between Maddalena and her 
friends at Bologna during the months of her sojourn at Bel- 
fiore, for the simple reason that Cesare had prevented any of 


AT FERMO. 


85 


her letters from leaving that place; and thoye she had left at 
Bologna were therefore in total ignorance of where she v\^as. 
Nevertheless, she had continued to write from time to time, 
not greatl}^ disturbed by the silence of her friends, parti}" be- 
cause it seemed to her likely enough that her mother sliould 
not be able to muster energy enough to attempt the strange 
and unprecedented effort of writing a letter ; and partly be- 
cause an Italian girl of Maddalena’s time, country, and social 
standing, looked on the adventure of putting a letter into the 
post-box very much as a seafarer may the dropping of a bot- 
tle with an enclosed writing into the sea, considering its ar- 
rival at its destination a possibility indeed, but not a thing to 
be counted on. But as soon as the obstacle to the departure 
of her letters was removed by the departure of Cesare, the 
next she committed to the post-box found its way duly enough 
to Bologna ; and the result was a reply, not from her mother, 
but from Varani. 

The letter was a long one ; for poor Pietro was a far more 
ready as well as more elegant penman than a speaker. But 
the nature of its contents will be readily understood without 
the necessity of transcribing them. The agony of self-humili- 
ation and self-reproach with which he spoke of his neglect to 
inform himself more accurately of the requirements of the 
law in the matter, the generous absence of any word of blame 
on Malatesta, the advice respecting the absolute necessity of 
repeating the ceremony, may all be imagined. But at its con- 
clusion the letter mentioned a report — not as having the 
slightest foundation for it, in fact, or the smallest degree of 
credibility, but as showing the necessity for a proper and pub- 
licly recognised marriage between them — a report that Cesare 
was about to be married to a lady at Fermo. 

Though very far from believing that there could possibly be 
any truth in such a story, the existence of it was a painful 
shock and a source of additional anxiety to her — no, not 
anxiety, she declared to herself. She told herself that she had 
not a shadow of misgiving upon the subject. She told herself 
so, and she repeated it to herself very often. Four months 
ago she would simply have forgotten all about it within an 
hour after the first blush of indignation at the statement.. 
But those days were gone. 

It was on the day after the arrival of Varani’s letter, after 
a night spent in long wakeful thinking, and short fitful dream- 


86 


AT FERMO. 


ings on tbe subject, that sbe wrote tbe letter wbicb Cesare 
carried up with bim to the privacj’ of the loggia at the top of 
the Palazza Malatesta. 

“I have been looking wistfullj’-,’’ she wrote, ^^for a line 
from you, dearest, these man}^- days — ever since my last sad 
grumbling letter indeed, written just after those few days of 
pain and fever, which left me weak and craving even more 
than usual for your dear comfortings, like a spoiled child as I 
am ! In spite of all her good resolutions and promised pru- 
dence, your poor little Lena’s heart has of late been very full 
of strange — I know you will say silly — tremblings and mis- 
givings, which she would hardly have found the courage to 
tell 3mu, but for her ailing bodily state, to which you will sure- 
ly ascribe them. The days have gone creeping on as usual, 
my own, very quietly, somewhat sadly. Always the same 
things doing at the same times and in the same places. Oh, 
beloved ! speak to me, I beseech you, as if you were here 
beside me now with vour hand in mine, and m\’ eyes search- 
ing into yours for hope and help. Have I no cause for fear ? 

I have had a letter from home — the first since I left it — full of 
the misfortune which we know of, my own, of course. But, 
besides this, there is at the end a frightful, hideous rumor, a 
base lie, which surely I should have been spared had the teller 
known anything of the love I bear you — the love we bear 
each other — is it not so? I hardly meant to speak to you of ' 
this when I began to write ; for I would not inflict on you any 
portion of the pain it has caused me. But, somehow, it has 
broken from me ; I know not why. Do not imagine that I for 
an instant believe the monstrous tale, the stuff they have 
talked, or aiijr other that wrongs your faith and love for your 
Lena. But speak to me, my beloved ! Speak to me, and the 
clouds will be scattered awaj' as when the sun shines. I want 
^’our voice ! I want one look, one kiss of your dear lips to 
give me back my happiness — not my faith in you; for that 
and my love are one ! ” 

This letter was not, under the circumstances, pleasant 
reading for the gentleman to whom it was addressed. And 
the result, inevitable in the case of such a man, was a consid- 
erable amount of irritation against the writer. 

It is all very well,” he muttered to himself as he walked 
up and down the loggia, twisting Maddalena’s letter in his 
hands ; it is all very well for her to try and keep up the 


AT FERMO. 


87 


comedy. But one of two things ! Either, as my father says, 
she and her family knew very well, or at least suspected, that 
a marriage made in half a minute in a garden was all bosh, 
and only wanted it as an excuse to save her character and give 
her a hold upon me ; or, as the Cardinal saj^s, she wickedlj^ 
plotted to make a marriage which she must have known was 
most abominable, and would make the misery of all concerned! 
One of the two ! What ought she to expect ? She is lucky 
to have fallen into the hands of worthy and conscientious 
people, who will make a better future for her than any she was 
ever entitled to look forward to. Any way, my duty is clear ! 
And God knows it is not a pleasant one ! But I go straight 
forward and do it. It is anything but a path of roses for me ! 
Why should she expect that tliere are to be no thorns for her ? 
Wants me to speak to her, and kiss her, and comfort 
her! Very likel}’’ ! No doubt ! And should not I like to go 
* back and staj’’ with her a day or two — or say a week, ay, or a 
month — very well. I swear I should like nothing better! 
What a relief! instead of going through all this interminable 
bore, to wind up by taking Cecilia Sampieri for a wife ! Of 
course I should like it ; but I can’t do it. I have my path 
chalked out for me, and my duty to do ! And, besides, the 
matter is all out of ray hands now. And it is happy for Mad- 
dalena that I have been thoughtful for her instead of selfish in 
putting it out of my own hands. If I had kept on with her, 
seeing her from time .to time, as it might have been very 
pleasant to do, what would have become of her and her child 
in the end ? If Maddalena has a spark of reason in her, she 
must feel, whatever she may say, that I have behaved uniform- 
ly well to her in this business. I think the best plan would 
be to tell the old ones of this letter, and let them know that 
it would be best to see to the matter at once.” 

So after a little further meditation, Cesare descended to the 
salotto, where the Marchese and the Cardinal were giving 
audience to the intendente, and discussing some of the innu- 
merable points of deep interest connected with the coming cer- 
emony. 

And then Cesare opened the business on which he was in- 
tent. He felt no embarrassment in speaking of the subject, 
for all the disagreeables attending the discussion of the matter 
with his elders had been gone through ; and both the lay and 
the clerical members of the family council had readily ad- 


88 


AT FEKMO. 


mitted that the thoughtful care which the young man had 
taken to prevent any disgrace arising to the family name from 
his juvenile errors, merited a lenient consideration of them. 
The’ Cardinal had spoken, indeed, a few grave official words 
in a grave official tone, respecting the sin of simulating a sacra- 
ment of the Church ; but had passed quickly over that part of 
the subject, remarking that it was matter wliich must be set- 
tled between the young man and his — confessor. And then 
it had been arranged, that if lie would testily his reupntance 
by solemnly promising never to see the dangerous wumcui wiio 
had led him astray again, all further difficulty in the matter 
should be spared him, by the care of his father and his excel- 
lent uncle, in the manner above mentioned. 

On hearing his present account of the state of things at 
Belfiore, both the elders agreed with him that it was highly 
desirable that precautionary measures for the prevention of 
any possible scandal should be taken at once. And the Car- 
dinal, highly eulogising his nephew's prudence and discretion, 
declared that he was quite ready to perform his part of the 
compact and to assume at once the care and the cost of pro- 
viding for Maddalena’s future. 

“ As it happens,” he said, “ I have, fortunately, an oppor- 
tunity of doing so in the the most desirable and unexception- 
able manner. The Superior of the Ursulines at Ascoli, is 

a person who will have pleasure in obliging me. The dower 
required in the convent is not a large one. it will be a most 
fitting place and opportunity for this unhappy young woman 
to repent of and cancel her sin. It would be desirable on 
many grounds that she should be brought to see that her best 
happiness would lie in assuming the veil ; and 1 can depend 
on the Superior of the Ursulines at Ascoli to exert herself to 
this good end. My brother will charge himself, as agreed, 
with the woman’s child when it shall be born ; and i must 
have her placed in proper care in Kome till that time. The 
best plan will be for me to write at once to my proouratore at 
Rome, an excellent, pious, and discreet man, on whose trust- 
worthiness I can entirely depend, and direct him to proceed at 
once to Belfiore, and take the woman to Rome. You had 
better write a line — a mere line — enjoining her to submit her- 
self entirely to his guidance.” 

The Cardinal pusiied the writing materials which were on 
the table across to his nephew, for him to write the “ mere 


AT FERMO. 


89 


line,’^ much as if it had been a quittance to an account. Ce- 
sare took the pen in hand, but the “mere line” was not forth- 
coming. So after writing his own letter to his procura- 
tors^'’ his Eminence took the sheet of paper from before his 
nephew with a “ pish ! ” and scribbled the following words : 

“ To Maddalena Tacca, — 

“ This is to desire that, on its being presented to you by Dr. 
Lorenzo BonafiS, you will at once put yourself entirely into 
his hands and under his guidance. You will see the absolute 
necessity of doing so from the commission that has been 
given him to pay all outstanding bills at Belfiore, and give up 
the apartment to the landlady.” 

“There,” said the Cardinal, “just copy and sign that.” 
And Cesare, finding himself wholly unable to devise any less 
•• brutal way of doing the brutal deed that lay in his “ path of 
duty,” did copy and sign it, venturing only to substitute 
“ Dear Maddalena,” for the heading “ To Maddalena Tacca.” 

So the letter was enclosed in that containing the Cardinal’s 
directions to his agent, and directed to Dr. Lorenzo Bonaffi in 
Kome ; and the family conclave having thus settled the fate of 
Maddalena and her child were at liberty, to return to the more 
important consideration of the coming grand struggle with the 
Sampieri for the superiority in carriages, liveries, flunkeys, and 
flunkeyism in every kind. 

******* 

The facts remaining to complete the series of events con- 
nected with this first period of the present history with which 
it is necessary that the reader should be made acquainted, may 
be told in a very few words. 

The alliance between the Malatesta and Sampieri families 
was completed with a rivalry of pride, pomp, circumstance, on 
either side, which was highly edifying to all the world of 
Eermo. 

In due time, also, on the 29th of September in the follow- 
ing year that is to say, an heir was born of the Marchese 
Cecilia Malatesta, 7iata Sampieri, to the Malatesta name and 
estates. He was christened by the old family name of Alfon- 
so, and was, of course, the most lovely baby that the sun had 
ever shone on. 


90 


IN THE PALAZZO BRANCACCI. 


In due time, also, that is to say on the 20th of December, 
1828, was born the son of the bond-woman, who was lieir to 
nothing at all in this world, and who was pronounced to be 
lovely by no voice, and felt to be precious by no heart, save by 
that one which was well-nigh broken by the enforced parting 
with him. He was christened Giulio, because that is the name 
of the saint whose “ daj'' ” in the calendar falls at that date. 
Though heir to nothing, he was supplied by the munificence 
of the March ese Salvadore Malatesta, according to his promise, 
with such modicum of food and shelter as sufficed to keep the 
life in the infant’s body, and to forward him on his way 
towards manhood. 

The Superior of the convent of Ursulines at Ascoli, an 
obscure and very remote little town on the coast of the Adri- 
atic, about forty miles south of Fermo, and close to the Nea- 
politan frontier, abundantly justified the confidence placed in 
her by the Cardinal Malatesta. Her pious exhortations, the 
judicious discipline of her convent, and the patient’s broken- 
hearted despair of that world which had collapsed in ruin 
around her, produced the end in view ; and before the close of 
the second year from the time she was received into the nun- 
nery, Maddalena had taken the black veil. 


boob: TI- 
THE CARNIVAL AT FLORENCE IN 1848. 


CHAPTER I. 

IN THE PALAZZO BRANCACCI. 

The curtain rising for the second act of our drama dis- 
covers Florence at the beginning of the Carnival of 1848. 

A xeiy remarkable and memorable Carnival among all 
other Carnivals was that of 1848, not in Florence onlj^, but in 
all other parts of Italy. Never were the masquers so numer- 


IN THE PALAZZO BRANCACCI. 


91 


ous. Pope Pins the Ninth entered into the spirit of the time 
with a degree of entrain that encouraged every one to join in 
the fun. With some fragments of old costumes of the time 
of Rienzi, and a cap of liberty drawn over the tiara, he com- 
pletely took in everybody he spoke to. Other crowned heads, 
in order to ^Mook like the time,” joined in the frolic, masquer- 
ading somewhat more clumsil}^ than his Holiness, and rather 
anxious, the while, for Shrove-tide. It was a rare time ! The 
masses of the people were persuaded, that now at length the 
time was definitely come when cheesecakes would grow on the 
roadside bushes, and every brook run custard. The grand 
universal Carnival-time of Italy was to be bounded by no nar- 
row calendar limits, but was to last till the crack of doom. 
But the Lenten-time soon came ; — and it lasted for ten years ! 
And the brooks soon ran with something else than custard ! — 
with something that they have to run with mostly in this sub- 
•• lunary world of ours, before the time for cakes and custard 
comes. 

It was a glorious time, however, that Carnival of 1848, as 
long as it lasted ! Great was the joy, greater still the high 
hopes, greatest of all and very touching the illimitable faith ! 
It did move mountains ; but wavering when the time of hard 
trial came, the mountains rolled back into their places — for a 
while ! 

On one of the earliest daj^s of this memorable Carnival, two 
young men were talking together in a small bed-chamber on 
the second floor of the Brancacci Palace, in the Via Larga of 
Florence. The owner of the palazzo, and inhabitant of the 
second floor of it, was the Marchese Floriraond Brancacci, 
Knight of Malta, a bachelor of course, sixty years of age ac- 
cording to the record of the baptismal register at St. Giovanni, 
— forty-three by his own reckoning and by social courtesy. 

The Brancacci palazzo was a small snug house in the Via 
Larga, and the first floor was let at a high rent to a Russian 
bachelor, or at least wifeless Prince. But the Marchese being 
very comfortably off, and having nobody in the world to think 
of but himself and one nephew, inhabited the second floor, in- 
stead of letting that also, and retiring himself to tlie third, as 
most Tuscan bachelor house-owners would have done in similar 
circumstances. 

He was a small, spare, wiry, active little old gentleman ; 
had beeu handsome in the days when, according to his own 


92 


IN THE PALAZZO BRANCACCI. 


count of time, he must have been about ten years old ; and 
was most wonderfully “ well preserved.” He was and had 
for many 3^ears been a chamberlain at the Grand-Ducal Court ; 
and was thought to walk backwards out of a room more grace- 
fully than an}’’ other man in Europe. For nearlj^ half a cen- 
tuiy he had been acknowledged to be the best-dressed man in 
Florence. When towards noon the Marchese Florimond was 
cleverl}’^ set on end among the rest of the Florentine jeunesse 
dJoree in front of Doney’s Cafe, with his two elegantly-clad 
legs a little apart, his exquisitely-varnished boots well planted 
on the level flagstones, and his Parisian hat carefully set on 
the top of the glossy curls bulging out from either side of it, 
he could criticise the passing carriages, and exchange greetings 
with their fair occupants bj’ waving the fingers of his unex- 
ception allj’^-gloved hand in the graceful Tuscan fashion, with 
the best of them. 

Tuscany was to him the centre and choicest spot of earth’s 
surface — Florence of Tuscany — tlie Via Larga of Florence — 
and the Palazzo Brancacci of the Via Larga! In addition to 
all which it may be said that all Florence considered the Mar- 
chese Florimond Brancacci to have done his duty creditably 
in every relation of life in which his lot had placed him. He 
was a good-natured master to his servants, an intensely 
courtly chamberlain to his sovereign, was and had been for 
more than thirty years the most devotedl}’ faithful cavaliere 
servente (Honi soil qui mol y pense!) of the peerless Mar- 
chesa Zenobia Altamari, and was, according to the emphatic 
testimony of his nephew Carlo, the model of perfection in ail 
avuncular duties and functions. 

It will be chiefly in the two latter relationships that we 
shall have an opportunity of seeing something more of the 
Marchese Florimond. 

This nephew Carlo was one of the two young men whom 
the rising of our curtain discovered in his own room in the 
comfortable apartment of his uncle in the Palazzo Brancacci ; 
and he was engaged in cordially welcoming the other, who 
had evidently just arrived from a journey. They were both 
quite young men, the new comer say twentjq and Carlo Bran- 
cacci perhaps a year younger ; the former, a tall, dark, and 
very singularly handsome youth, with a noble forehead, long 
wavy dark brown hair, fine frankly-opened fearless eyes. 
They were often sad, and sometimes inexpressibly loving eyes. 


IN THE PALAZZO BRANCACCT. 


93 


The mouth was one of rare sweetness, and was shaded by the 
slight black line of a youthful moustache. Carlo Brancacci 
was a good-looking lad too ; but in a very different stjde from 
the far superior beauty of his friend. He was fair and light- 
haired, with a pink and white complexion as delicately beau- 
tiful as that of a girl — a type which is found more frequently 
among the Italians, especially of the upper classes, than we 
northerners are apt to imagine. Bright, dancing, laughing 
blue eyes, the best-tempered mouth in the world, and a rolj’- 
poly abundance of flesh both in face and figure, left no possi- 
bility of doubting that Carlo Brancacci was one- of those 
happy fellows destined by nature to be equally favorites with 
men and women, and with themselves. 

“Now, old fellow!” said he to his companion, “you know 
what you are come to Florence for? ” 

Mainly because you insisted on my doing so. Carlo ! ” 
•• replied his friend, with a smile. 

“ Mainly because I was persauded that a good strong dose of 
Carnival-keeping would be good for jmur constitution.” 

“ Here I am, at your bidding. Carlo wwo,” replied the other 
smilingly, but to tell the truth, I have a little misgiving about 
quartering myself on your uncle’s hospitality for all the Car- 
nival.” 

“ My uncle has never seen you, but I don’t think the look 
of you will frighten him. Do you think that I have an 
acquaintance in all Florence, let alone my own uncle, who is 
father and mother and uncle^nd aunt too to me, who has not 
heard of the man who risked and all but sacrificed his life to 
save mine, when I was ass enough to all but drown myself at 
Gombo ? * And strange as it seems to you — and it is odd, I 
must admit — my uncle has a notion that by fishing me out of 
the water before I was quite done for, you did him a good turn, 
and one which deserves his life-long gratitude. I can’t see 
that there was any good done. But that’s his feeling about 
it.” 

“ You should not have made a mountain out of a molehill ! 
But in all seriousness. Carlo, do you not think that w'e are 
bound, or I should say rather that I am bound, to let your 
uncle know the unhappy position in which I am placed by the 
circumstances of my birth. I cannot consent that he should 
be allowed to suppose that he is receiving a legitimate member 
o A small bathing-place on the coast, near Pisa. 


94 


IN THE PALAZZO BRANCACCI. 


of the Malatesta family. I am none such, you know, in the 
world’s eye.” 

“There you go plunging into the forbidden sin of social 
philosophising. But make yourself easy. My uncle knows 
all about it. Why ! bless your heart! we have talked you all 
over a dozen times.” 

A sudden and transient flush passed over the young man’s 
pale cheek, which showed that, though he was unquestionably 
relieved by his friend’s confession, the relief was not unaccom- 
panied by a feeling of pain. 

“ You seriously mean to assure me,” he said, “ that the 
Marchese Florimond is aware that I am the illegitimate son 
of a motlier whom I have never known, of whose condition 
and name even I am utterly ignorant, of whom I do not know 
so much as whether she is living or dead ; that though recog- 
nised as a son of the present Marchese, and for the present 
supported by his charity, till I may be able to earn my own 
bread, I have never even seen him to my knowledge ; that I 
have neither part nor lot in the family ‘ respectability ; ’ and 
that I am essentially an outcast and a vagabond ? ” 

“ Every bit of it, my dear Giulio, with the exception of the 
vagabondage, of which I was not aware ; but which shall be 
particularly notified to him if you desire it. Yes, he knows 
it all well enough. But, bless j^our heart ! when we find such 
a fellow as you among us, it’s very little we trouble ourselves 
about his father and mother ; ^d as to asking whether they 
were married or not — die ! ” ^ 

“ For all that, I should not quite like to enter any house 
under false colors ! ” persisted Malatesta. 

“ 0 1 was there ever such a thorny animal ! There shall be 
no false colors ! Per Bacco ! you shall be introduced, like the 
by-blows of the French kings used to be, as ‘ The Bastard of 
Ferrno,’ if you insist on it.” 

“ Those are words which such as you may joke with. Carlo ; 
but they are far too sharp for such as I to play with,” said 
Giulio, as his cheek flushed again, and a shade passed over his 
brow. 

“ There goes the proud blood, Malatesta, every drop of it. 
I’ll answer for it ! I tell you, and I know what I am saying, 
that you are bothering yourself about nothing. Besides are 
we not all going to be free and equal ? — the best man to go 
in and win, the prettiest fellow to have the prettiest girl, the 


THE CONTESSA ZENOBIA. 


95 


bravest to be general-in-cbief, and the cleverest rogue prime 
minister ? ” 

“ Very likeljM but there is much difference between preach- 
ing and practising, as we all know,” replied Ginlio, smiling 
somewhat sadly ; “ but don’t think,” he added, more earnestly, 
“ that I don’t stand by my flag ! There would be nothing to 
prevent me from going to the top of the Campanile at Pisa 
some fine morning, and coming down outside and headforemost 
if it were not for the hope that a day is really at hand when 
an Italian man with an Italian heart and brain may be able 
to carve out for himself a fair place in the world’s sunshine.” 

‘‘ I for one,” rejoined Carlo, affectionately, “ would back you 
to do so against all the most legitimate Malatestas in Fermo ! 
And now, dear old fellow. I’ll show you your room. To-mor- 
row morning jmu shall make acquaintance with my uncle in 
due form. He’s on duty to-night ! ” 

• “ What, at Court ? ” asked Giulio. 

No ! a deuced deal harder work than that ! In attendance 
at the Marchesa Zenobia’s opera-box ! There never was such 
a martyr to a high sense of duty ! Good night, old fellow ! ” 

“ Good night, dear Carlo ! What time shall you be stirring 
in the morning ? ” 

“ Oh, not before nine ! ” 

‘‘ Lazy dog ! Well ! I suppose I may get out, and have a 
look at the city before that? I will be back by nine.” 

And so the young men parted for the night. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE CONTESSA ZENOBIA. 

In every relation in life the Marchese Florimond Brancaccl 
had been unexceptionable, as has been declared. Specially 
exemplary had he been for many long years in the sight and 
to the admiration of all Florence, as the cavaliere servente of 
the noble and much-respected lad}’ the Contessa Zenobia Alta- 
mari. 

Cavaliere servente! That means serving cavalier. Jacob 


96 


THE CONTESSA' ZENOBIA. 


we know, served for Rachel seven years. The Marchese Flor- 
imond served for the Contessa Zenobia more tlian tliirty. We 
know what the reward was in the former case. It is by no 
means equally clear what it was, or whether it was any, in the 
second case. 

All that Florence knew, or cared to know, of the matter was, 
that the Marchese Florimond had had, during the last thirty 
years, millions of opportunities of squeezing the Contessa Ze- 
nobia’s — elbow, if it so pleased him to do. Her hand ? Fi 
done! By right of this customary feudal service, as one may 
call it, of elbow touching, the Marchese was known and recog- 
nized to be the “serving cavalier” of the Contessa. And 
truly, faithfully, and indefatigablj'’ did he perform his service. 

I have heard of English husbands who have felt the matri- 
monial yoke gall them ; who have even considered that their 
life was made a burden to them by reason of the tale of bricks 
exacted, and the long suffering expected from them. I should 
like to be shown the British husband who, for thirty years, 
despite increasing rheumatism, despite the droughts of pas- 
sages and lobbies, and the blasts of traniontana winds, has 
never been known to be absent from duty at step of carriage 
or door of opera-box! All this and much more was expected 
from a faithful “ cavaliere servente ” de la vieiLle roche. All 
this and much more the Marchese Florimond had zealously 
and conscientiously performed. 

The Contessa Zenobia Altamari, a Tozzinghi by birth, had 
been left a childless widow after a ver}’ brief period of married 
life. She had been born fifty-foui; years before the time of 
which we are speaking, but she was only thirty-eight years 
old ; the same courteous and amiable fiction having been 
adopted in her case as in that of the Marchese Florimond, for 
the purpose of putting down the testimony of the brutal old 
hour-glass holder b}’- dint of pertinacious assertion. She had 
never been a beauty, although her face was not deficient in 
striking, and even fine features. The main fault of them was, 
that thej^ were all too large for her small person. It was a 
further misfortune that the least pleasing among them, was 
that which the lapse of time had done the least to miti- 
gate. The large beaky Roman nose, which caused the whole 
physiognomy to resemble that of a parrot, remained in all the 
perfection of its development. Though the fine black eyes 
had lost somewhat of their fire they were very fine eyes still, 


THE CONTESSA ZENOBIA. 


97 


despite the ill nature of those who. asserted that they would 
he much more tolerable if their expression had been toned 
down to about half its usual intensity. The Contessa always 
took the greatest care of her complexion ; and if it had not 
been that a taste for high color grows upon the eye as surely 
as a taste for strong flavors on the palate, the result would 
have been entirely satisfactory. The mouth also contributed 
its share to the same unfortunate result It was a beautifally 
formed mouth, though large. But art, in suppljung it with a 
magnificent garniture of the finest teeth, had just a shade 
overstepped the modesty of nature. And the consequence was, 
that the teeth seemed too brilliantl}’- white, and too faultlessly 
regular. And, though it cannot be doubted that the artist 
had accurately conformed himself to nature’s practice in this 
respect, these beautiful teeth somehow or other gave the be- 
holder of the man idea that they were abnormally numerous. 

.. Altogether, there appeared to be too much of a good thing. 

Then, again, it was no fault of the Contessa, but simply 
and purely a misfortune, that the general effect thus produced 
was infelicitously heightened by the junction of this — shall I 
say powerful ? — head and physiognomy to a diminutive figure. 
The Contessa Zenobiahad been celebrated in days unforgotten 
by her, however much they might have been forgotten by 
others, for the fairy-like beauty of this little figure — for the 
statuesque perfection of the form of neck and shoulders, for 
the admirable hand and arm, and the no less admirable foot 
and leg. And the light little figure was still there. But, 
alack ! slenderness had become scragginess ; litheaess had 
turned to rigidity ; joints had grown bigger, and the fleshy 
integuments of them more scant. But the Contessa Zenobia 
was not aware of the extent of the change that had been 
produced in all these respects, and labored under the griev- 
ously erroneous impression that any slight deterioration of 
charm which these beauties had suffered from the touch of 
time, might be compensated by an increased liberality in the 
display of them. 

The Contessa Zenobia was an Italian woman striving to 
appear French. It was the mode in Florence to ape French 
manners, French dresses, French ideas, and French phrases, 
when the Lady Zenobia was young. That mode had long 
since passed away (save as regards the dresses) in the course 
of the fifty-five years which it had taken to make Zenobia 
6 


98 


THE CONTESSA ZENOlilA. 


thirty-eight years old. But she was still and ever the same 
(French) fairy-like creature that she had been in the days of 
the First Empire— rather too much like a fairy in the first 
scene of a Christinas pantomime, while the big comic heads 
are still on, instead of in the last scene, when the semi-divine 
creature is seen in her own proper form and radiance — but 
still every inch a fairy. 

The Contessa Zenobia was very ignorant. She mis-knew 
a little French, affecting exceedingly the use of scrap phrases 
of it, and using them almost always with a curious infelicit3^ 

Though guiltless of having ever read a line of the French 
philosopher’s sense or his nonsense, she was very fond of speak- 
ing of Voltaire ; and — probably from the unconscious remem- 
brance of some naughty mystification by some roue French 
militaire a quarter of a century or more ago — she generallj’’ 
referred to him as “ the inspired author of the Pucelle ! ” 

It would certainly have been an abuse of terms to call the 
Contessa Zenobia a strong-minded woman — even had the term 
been invented in her day — for she was manifestly a remark- 
ably weak-minded woman. Neither would it have been just 
to accuse her of free-thinking tendencies ; for she could hardly 
have been said to think at all. Nevertheless, it is undeniable 
that she affected a sort of freedom and dashing gaillardise of 
speech and practice in matters of religion, which, however, 
was not incompatible with a feeling of awe and much fear of 
her religious director, of a kind exactly the same as that felt 
by a red Indian for his “ medicine man.” It seemed, I take 
it, to the Contessa Zenobia, ^hat religion was properly and 
exclusively an affair of the old ; and that to have appeared 
religious would have been equivalent to pleading guilty to old 
age. 

With all this, there were and are a great many worse 
women than the Contessa Zenobia ; and there were at Flor- 
ence a great many worse-liked women. In fact, she was not 
unpopular. She was considerablj" laughed at behind her back, 
it is true. She wished to be, and to remain, and be considered, 
young and gay and perennially frolicsome. She kept a good 
house, which it was pleasant to frequent ; she was connected 
with many of the oldest and noblest families in Florence ; 
she did, as it is called, a great deal for society ; she had plenty 
of money, and spent it, if not altogether well or wisely, yet 
liberally and open-liandedly. In short, th» Contessa Zenobia 


AT THE PALAZZO ALTAMARI. 


99 


was universally admitted to be a desirable acquaintance ; and 
if the Marchese Florimond had shown any signs of an inten- 
tion to resign a position the arduous duties of which were 
becoming almost too much for him, there would have been no 
lack of candida'’es for tlie succession. 

It has been mentioned that the Contessa Zenobia Altimari 
had been left very early in life a childless widow. More than 
tliirty years had elapsed since the date of her widowhood. 
But, about twelve or thirteen years later, her husband’s 
younger brother had also died, leaving a widow and an infant 
child. Between the wife of this brother and the Contessa 
Zenobia there had never been much of friendship or mutual 
liking. All the advances Zenobia had made towards her had 
been most rigidly repulsed ; and very shortly the only point 
in which the- existence of the elder lady touched that of the 
younger, was the exiling the latter in a great measure from a 
•• society in which she would have risked meeting the connec- 
tion so distasteful to her. 

Under these circumstances, it is creditable to the Contessa 
Zenobia, that, when the widow of the younger of the Alta- 
mari brothers died, some six or seven years after her husband, 
she adopted her orphan niece as readily, and welcomed her as 
kindlj’-, and interested herself in her welfare as warmly, as if 
she and the little orphan’s mother had been the dearest 
friends. 

But she did all these kind things by her niece after her own 
fashion — as, indeed, how could she do them otherwise. The 
little Stella had been sent, when she was about ten years old, 
to be brought up at a convent in Pistoia, which had in those 
days a considerable reputation as a place of education. That 
was in 1841 5 and Stella was now in her eighteenth year. 


CHAPPEE TIL 

AT THE PALAZZO ALTAMARI. 

On the morning following the conversation between Giulio 
Malatesta and his friend Carlo Brancacci, the Marchese Flori- 


100 


AT THE PALAZZO ALTAMARI. 


mond was away to the Palazzo Altamari at a somewhat ear- 
lier hour than usual. The consequence was, that Carlo missed 
the opportunity of presenting his friend to his uncle before tlie 
latter left the house as he had intended. The fact was, tliat 
there was a matter of more than usual importance to be con- 
sidered in council that morning at the Palazzo Altamari, and 
the Marchese was on duty rather earlier than usual in conse- 
quence. The matter in hand was the return of Stella from 
Pistoia, which was expected to take place that day. Her edu- 
cation was understood to have been completed, and she was 
coming home for her first presentation to the world during the 
gaieties of the ensuing Carnival. 

Now, this return was looked forward to as a matter of some 
importance, not only in the Palazzo Altamari, but in the Flor- 
entine world in general. For Stella Altamari was a great 
heiress. Her father and his elder brother had divided between 
them one of the finest properties in Tuscany. The elder 
brother had bequeathed his share of the estate absolutely to 
his widow. But the Contessa Zenobia, when she took upon 
herself the care of her orphan niece, had declared publicly 
that she was to be her heiress. So the great Altamari prop- 
erty was once again to be united in the person of Stella. 

The Florentine world had also heard rumors of the marvel- 
lous beauty of the heiress ; and it may be easily understood, 
therefore, that the rising^of this new star was looked to with 
no small degree of interest by many of the old and young of 
either sex among the upper ten hundred of Florence. 

There had been no little talk, moreover, among the mem- 
bers of the same circles about the manner in which the Con- 
tessa Zenobia was likely to acquit herself of the task of intro- 
ducing her niece and heiress into the world, and managing the 
grand object of that introduction, her marriage and settlement 
in life. It was very generally felt that the Contessa Zenobia 
was not exactly the person that a judicious father would select 
to stand in the place of mother to his child. 

In short, Florence was prepa;:.tid to expect the appearance of 
the debutante in a more critical mood than usual, and to look 
with an extraordinar}’’ degree of curiosity on the proceedings 
of “ La Zenobia” in the matter of “ bringing her out.” 

The Palazzo Altamari was at no very inconvenient distance 
from the Palazzo Brancacci. They were both in the Via Lar- 
ga. The houses in that street are of all sizes. It contains 


AT THE PALAZZO ALTAMARI. 


101 


some of the largest and some of the smallest palaces in Flor- 
ence. The Palazzo Altamari was one of the former ; and the 
Palazzo Brancacci, though a snug, well built house, one of the 
latter. The Contessa Zenobia, unlike all save the wealthiest 
of the Tuscan nobles, inhabited, or at least kept in her own 
occupation, the entiret}’’ of her splendid mansion. The ground 
floor afforded accommodation for her horses, her carriages, her 
harness-rooms, her muniment-room, her wood-houses, her oil- 
cellars, &c. The first floor, ov piano nohile, was almost exclu- 
sively occupied by the magnificent suite of receiving-rooms. 
The last room of the suite, situated at the southern extremity 
of the facade, was fitted up as the state bedroom, as one may 
call it ; and was occupied — not without much state — by the 
Contessa Zenobia, who specially affected the old French fash- 
ion of receiving her intimate friends in bed. 

On the inano nohile also, behind the grand suite of rooms 
** on the front, were the sleeping quarters of the Contessa’s tire- 
women, her dressing-room, bath-room, &c., all on the southern 
side of the great central hall ; and the grand dining-room, and 
various offices connected with it, on the northern side of the 
same. All the remaining sleeping-chambers were on the 
second floor, together with a small set of sitting-rooms, with 
their own little kitchen attached to them, in which the Contessa 
mainly lived when she was not engaged in ‘‘doing anything 
for society.” The handsome drawing-rooms only of the suite 
on the piano nohile were used during the whole year, with the 
exception of the short autumnal villeggiatura. The remain- 
der of the state rooms were opened only during Carnival. 
And the great dining-room was never used at all, save on the 
one da}?- of each year when the Contessa gave her annual 
grand dress-ball ; when it was opened for a supper-room. 

It was to the small morning-room on the seoond floor that 
the Marchese Florimond made his way on the morning in 
question. Zenobia appeared before the well-accustomed eyes 
of the faithful Florimond in her dressing-wrapper, and without 
her “ front.” 

“ Good day, caro mio ! ” said the lady ; “upon my word, I 
began to think I was not going to see you this morning.” 

“Nay, carissima Contessa,” replied the devoted Florimond, 
“let us be just ! let us, before all things, be just. My watch 
says only nine and five minutes.” 

“ Oh ! for Heaven’s sake spare me your caligraphy ! If 


102 AT THE PA_LAZZO ALTAMARI. 

there is one thing I abominate more than another, it is a man 
that is caligraphical/’ cried the Contessa, who rarely uttered 
many consecutive sentences without adorning the diction with 
some flowers especially her own. “ Besides,” she continued, 

“ I have been thinking of this matter of Stella all night. Ba c-^ 
, chus has not once visited my eyes ! Where shall Stella make 
her first appearance ? On the winter walk at the Cascine, at 
the opera, or in the salone^ here, in the evening ? Madame 
Delile has sent home her dresses — lovely, both morning and 
evening — toilette and demi-toilette. What do you say to it, 
March ese ? ” 

“ It seems to me,” he said, “ that the Cascine walk would 
be the best.” 

“ Perhaps it would,” agreed the lady. “ But w'hy do you 
think so ? ” 

“ Why!” said Florimond, biting his nails as he hesitated a 
minute ; “ it — comes first, you see I ” 

“ Morbleu, that’s true ! And the green walking-dress that 
Madame Delile has sent is lovely. So you are for the walk 
at the Cascine ? What sort of weather is it ? ” 

“ A lovely day ! All Florence will be there ! ” 

“ Then we wdll be there too ! so that’s settled.” 

“ But at what time is the Signorina Stella to arrive ? Won’t 
she be too tired to go out immediately ? ” said the Marchese. 

“ Stella wdll be here by mid-day ; and we shall not go out 
till half-past three. Tired ! A girl of eighteen, fresh from 
her convent, too tired to show' herself to all the pretty fellows 
in Florence ! Teach your grandmother to suck eggs 1 Oh 1 
Beppa,” she continued, to a maid w'ho had entered, ‘‘tell 
Giovanni that I shall w'ant the carriage at three — and, Beppa, 
desire Mademoiselle to come here.” 

Mademoiselle, it must be understood, was an elderly French 
woman, some ten j^ears younger than the Contessa Zenobia. 
She had been, many years ago, that lady’s personal maid, 
and in that capacity had acquired a complete knowledge of her 
mistress and all her w^ays and works, as w'ell as a very consid- 
erable influence over her. Being well aw'are of this, and con- 
sidering the position and mode of life of the Contessa, all 
alone in her great palace, it had struck her that it would not 
be difficult to mount a step in the social scale, and make for 
herself a permanent and comfortable home in the Palazzo Al- 
tamari on a somewhat better footing than that of a lady’s-maid. 


AT THE PALAZZO ALTAMARI. 


103 


So, she one day told her mistress that great as was her attach- 
ment to her, her attachment to la hella France was j'et more 
irresistible; — that la patrie had the first claim on her heart ; 
and, in short, that she must leave her. The Contessa was in 
despair! So, after a little well-managed haggling, it was ar- 
ranged, to the great mutual satisfaction of both parties, that 
Mademoiselle Zelie Dumont was to remain at the Palazzo Alta- 
mari in the capacity of humble friend and companion. 

She had assumed her silk gowns and her place in the 
drawing-room with equal ease and propriety ; nor had her 
appearance there and in her patroness’s carriage caused the 
slightest embarrassment, or displeasure, or questioning on the 
part of an}" of those who were in the habit of meeting and 
seeing her in those situations. She became at once “ La 
Zelie” to all the habitues of the house, and was thenceforward 
as much a component part of the establishment as the Contessa 
herself, or her pet lapdog, or her favorite cavaliere the Mar- 
chese Florimond. 

With the return of Stella from her convent, however, a new 
and more arduous sphere of duty opened itself before La 
Zelie. It was quite in accordance with the notions of the 
Contessa Zenobia that a duenna^ nominally and ex officio such, 
should form a main object in the proper surroundings of a 
debutante heiress. And who so adapted for the delicate and 
confidential position as La Zelie ? So it was perfectly under- 
stood in the Palazzo Altamari that the ancient tire-woman 
was to assume that responsible position. 

For the rest, La Zelie wtis an alert, well-preserved little 
woman o£ five-and-forty, witii a small, red, dried-apple sort of 
looking face, a bright eye, a nez rterousse, and a neat figure, 
always specially well fitted, on wliicF any word or compliment 
was always extrem.ely acceptable to her. 

Z41ie,” said the Contessa, as the little woman entered the 
room, “the Marchese thinks we had better begin with the 
walk. His judgment may always be depended upon !” 

“Assuredly it may, Madame la Comtesse ! The Marchese 
knows very well that daylight gives an advantage to colors in 
all their freshness that we ought not to neglect. There are 
plenty of beautiful fiices to which sunlight is no longer a 
friend.” 

So the important question of the morning having been thus 
settled, the Marchese, after a few more words, which he had 


104 


AT THE PALAZZO AXTAIVLAKI. 


probably said in exactly the same sequence a hundred times 
before, took his leave, without saying a word about meeting 
again ; for it was quite a matter of course that he woi|Jd be 
found sunning liimself on the winter walk on the bank of the 
Arno between three and four o’clock in the afternoon. 

About an hour afterwards Stella arrived, under the convoy 
of two sisters of the convent at Fistoia, whom business con- 
nected with the educational department of their house had 
brought to Florence. 

She came bounding up the great staircase of the palazzOy 
leaving the nuns and the old servant who had received her at 
the door to follow at their leisure. 

“Here I am. Aunt Zenobia ! ’’ she cried, throwing herself 
with such an impetus into the Contessa’s arms as to make the 
little lady stagger on her high heeled boots ; “ here I am ! 
And I am so glad to be here ! We have been such a time on 
the road ! How d’ye do, Zelie ? Is everybody well ? ” 

“ Quite well, dear girl, if 3'OU don’t knock us all over!” said 
the Contessa, recovering herself. “ You come into the room 
like a battering-ram — at least, I suppose battering-rams would 
come in that wa}^ would the}'’ not, Zelie?” 

“Just exactly like that. Signora Contessa ; they always do ! ” 
said Zelie. 

“ Well ! I won’t be a battering-ram, aunt,” said Stella. 

“Come here, child, and let me see if ^mu have grown at all. 
No ! 1 don’t see that you have,” she continued, measuring the 
girl against herself. “ You were just a finger’s breadth taller 
than me in the summer, and you are exactly the same now. 
I am so^glad you have not grown taller. I was afraid that 
you were going to be a gawk}’’ giantess ! ” 

“ But you see I have taken example by you, aunt, and 
thought better of it,” said Stella; who was, in truth, a most 
perfect specimen of the style of figure generally designated 
as fairy-like. 

“ Yes ! I am pleased with your figure ! ” returned the 
Contessa ; “ it is, perhaps, a trifle, a shade too tall,” she added, 
looking at her niece critically. 

“ It is just exactly a finger’s breadth too tall, aunt,” said 
Stella, with a laugh in her eye. 

“ I think it is about that I ” returned Zenobia, nodding 
gravely. “ Let me see your feet.” 

“ Oh ! they’ll do to carry me,” said Stella, as she put forth 
one tiny little foot beyond the shelter of her dress. 


AT THE PALAZZO ALTAMARI. 


105 


“ Do to carry you ! as if that was what they were needed 
for ! ” cried the aunt. “ Take care ! I want to see what they 
are like^’’ she added, seizing hold of Stella’s dress as she spoke, 
and lilting it above her ankles. 

‘‘ Nonsense ! Don’t, aunt ! I don’t like to be examined 
like a horse or a dog ! ” said Stella, escaping from her aunt’s 
hand, while a slight blush crossed her face. 

“ But all these matters are necessary to be thought of,” 
insisted her aunt; and as people will wear such absurdly 
long dresses, I must teach you how to find opportunities for 
letting your foot be seen.” 

“ Oh ! nonsense, aunt ! How can you talk in such a way ? 
I am sure I won’t be taught any such thing! ” 

“ Why not, child ? You have a very neat foot. Why not 
use the advantages God has given you ? I know the value of 
a pretty foot ! ” 

“ Well, at all events, aunt, you won’t have the cruelty to 
make me show mine when you are by. That would be too 
damaging to me, j^ou know ! ” 

“All the world cannot have such an instep as that, it is 
true ! ” said Zenobia, stretching out a somewhat scraggy 
ankle, and lifting her dress to allow a view of it ; “ but you 
have a pretty foot, and it is your duty to society to let it be 
seen. We are going to walk in the Cascine this afternoon, 
and all Florence will be there.” 

“ Must I go with you to-day, aunt ? ” 

“Why, what a question ! Of course you must ! What am 
I going .there for ? And what have you come home for the 
Carnival for ? And what is that beautiful walking dress from 
Defile’s for? I mean you to have a regular jolly Carnival — 
balls, operas, masquerades, assemblies, and fun of all sorts.” 

“ And I am ready for as much of it as ever you will give 
me, dear aunt. I’ll dance right up to Ash- Wednesday 
morning with all my heart. But there is something else I 
wanted to do to-day.” 

“ Something else ? Why, what can you have to do in Flor- 
ence, Stella ? ” 

“ Oh ! nothing that need be done to-day. Only to see the 
friend of a friend of mine, an old Signora Palmieri. Clara 
• Palmieri was lu}' great friend at the convent. And she wished 
me to call on her mother, here in Florence.” 

“ Another day you shall do so ; but we cannot miss to-day 


106 THE WINTER WALK AT THE CASCINE. 


at the Cascine. So now go and dress yourself. Zelie will go 
with you.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE WINTER WALK AT THE CASCINE. 

The winter walk in the Cascine was more than usually 
crowded that day ; and it is probable that the beauty of the 
weather was not the only attraction which drew the crowd 
thither. For the Marchese Florimond, on leaving the Palazzo 
Altamari, had proceeded to perform the second great duty of 
his day. This was to exhibit himself for an hour or so in front 
of the Cafe Done}'’, a spot which is to Florence a concentrated 
essence, as it were, of Pall Mall and the Boulevard des Ital- 
iens. 

The Marchese Florimond was a great man that day on the 
gossip exchange. It was great and important news he had to 
tell, and on a subject on which it w^as well known that he 
was unexceptionable authority. The Contessa Stella Altamari 
was to arrive in Florence in an hour or so, and would infallibly 
be on the winter walk in the Cascine that afternoon. Within 
an hour after the appearance of the Marchese on ’Change, the 
fact was known to all the creme de la creme of Florence. It 
was no wonder, therefore, that there w’as a full muster on the 
banks of the Arno. 

Few European cities possess a mall of equal beauty with 
that winter walk in the Cascine, none any place of resort sur- 
passing it. 

As a winter walk it is surely matchless. It runs along the 
north bank of the river, and is shut in by a lofty, close, and 
w^ell-kept evergreen hedge, and by the thick Cascine woods 
behind it. 

On this delightful promenade, sunning itself in the full 
southern sun, and safely protected from every cold blast from 
the Apennine by the woods and the tall hedge which bounds 
them, the Florentine wmrld loves to congregate of a winter 
afternoon, The Cascine have plenty of shady avenues and 


THE WINTER WALK AT THE CASCINE. 107 


bowery meadows for summer evening walks ; but the long 
mall on the bank of the Arno is the walk for winter. It is 
not the fashion for the female portion of the Florentine bean 
vioncle to repair to the Cascine on foot, close as the walk is to 
the city wall. The mode is to leave one’s carriage in the 
drive adjoining the winter walk, so as to avoid all exposure to 
the wintry winds, which are careering over less privileged 
localities. 

Carlo Brancacci had taken his friend Giulio to breakfast at 
Honey’s, partly for the sake of introducing him to one of the 
principal lounges of the city, and partly for the purpose of 
taking that opportunity of presenting him to his uncle ; for 
though they had all three passed the night under the same 
roof, it rareh^ happened that the Marchese and his nephew saw 
each other before they both left the house on their different 
errands in the morning. 

The presentation had duly taken place ; and the courteous 
little Marchese had received Giulio with the utmost cordiality, 
trusting that he would pass a gay and agreeable Carnival, 
rejoicing that his house should be made useful to his nephew’s 
friend, and telling him that none of the name of Brancacci 
could ever forget the noble action which had for ever made 
them his debtors. For the Marchese Florimond was a gentle- 
man, notwithstanding his little ridicules. He was devotedly 
attached to his nephew, and felt proportionably the gratitude 
he owed to the preserver of his life ; — an act which had, as 
Carlo Brancacci said with perfect truth, been performed at the 
greatest risk to his own. So the few cordial words which the 
little Marchese had spoken, and, more still, his manner in 
speaking them, had soothed the somewhat bristling suscepti- 
bilit}’- of Malatesta’s pride, and made him feel that he could 
accept the hospitality offered to him without any further pro- 
test or misgiving. 

“ And now,” said Carlo, after spending the intervening 
time in a first visit to some of the objects of most prominent 
interest in the city — “ now it is time to go to the Cascine. 
You will see all the pretty women in Florence there, and, above 
all, the new arrival — the beauty, the heiress, the cynosure of 
all eyes.” 

“ All that is very well for you. Carlo mio ! but what have I 
to do with beauties and heiresses ? Better leave me alone in 
the shade here, while you go bask I ” 


108 THE WINTER WALK AT THE CASCINE. 


^‘Now, Giulio! that’s not fair! I won’t have Lenten talk 
and Lenten thoughts in Carnival. It’s contrary to all relig- 
ion ! As for heiresses, I should have thought that you were 
exactly the man who had to do with them, seeing that you 
have nothing of your own.” 

I am afraid your philosophy won’t suit my case, Carlo. 
Every man must make his own for his own use.” 

‘‘ He had better make it fresh and fresh, then, and not keep 
it by him till it turns sour. How my philosophy teaches me 
to be particularly content with what fortune has provided for 
me, and consequently for you too, to-day. There will not be a 
man at the Cascine who will not be dying for an introduction 
to the new beauty. For you and me it is already provided ; 
and in all probability not another fellow in all Florence will get 
speech of her till the evening. We shall have a good half- 
dozen hours’ start of all the field. Do you call that noth- 
ing ? ” 

“ You don’t mean to attempt introducing me to this paragon 
of rank, beauty, wealth, and fashion, there in the face of all 
the gay world of Florence ? You can’t dream of such a 
thing ! ” 

“ I mean tobe presented myself! — that you may depend on. 
I should think I did, indeed ! And you will be by my side. 
We are inseparables ! Cela s'entend! But every care shall 
be taken of your retiring sensitiveness. I have said a word 
in my uncle’s ear ! He has told me exactly the place where 
they will leave the carriage. He will give the Contessa’s 
coachman his orders accordingly. And of course he will be in 
waiting there himself, as in duty bound. Then we happen to 
stroll up, and are presented, I take my place by the Signor- 
ina’s side during the walk, stick to her as close as wax, and 
don’t let another fellow come near her. Besides, the prince of 
all uncles, past and present, has promised me that nobody else 
shall be presented during the walk. If that is not strategy, I 
should like to know what is ! Here is the place where the 
Contessa’s carriage will draw up,” said Carlo, stopping in his 
walk. “ That is the Grand-Duke’s dairy farm,” pointing as 
he spoke to a handsome building standing back from the river 
some half a furlong. “Just hereabout is always the most 
crowded part of the walk. My uncle will be here in a few 
minutes, no doubt. But I don’t want to be with him when 
they come up. We will let him hand the ladies from the 


THE WINTER WALK AT THE CASCINE. 109 

carriage, and then come up directly afterwards. Then he will 
walk with the Contessa, and the Contessina and Zelie will 
walk behind them.” 

“ And who is Zelie ? ” 

‘‘ Oh ! every one in Florence knows La Z^lie ; she is a sort 
of goiivernante. Zelie and I are great friends, which will 
make our enterprise all the easier.” 

Chattering in this manner, Carlo drew his friend a little 
farther down the sunnj’’ walk, which was now rapidly filling 
with people. Carriage after carriage drew up by the side of 
the broad gravel promenade and discharged its occupants amid 
the well dressed crowd. Carlo’s object was to hover near 
enough to spy the Altamari carriage on its arrival, so as to 
meet the ladies apparently by chance, as soon as might be 
after the}’- had alighted. 

,, They had not very long to wait before Carlo descried the 
well-known pair of handsome greys, the olive-green open car- 
riage, with its buff-colored lining, and the head and superb 
head-dress of the Contessa Zenobia, emerging from beneath 
an immense fur rug, so arranged as to cover the whole of her 
almost recumbent person. It was very inconvenient to the 
short legs of the little Contessa to maintain herself in this at- 
titude, and her head and shoulders almost went down on the 
cushions of the seat of the carriage in the effort. But fashion 
prescribed that position, and the Contessa Zenobia would have 
broken her neck in the attempt, rather than not accomplish it. 
By her side sat Stella, looking tall by contrast with the reclin- 
ing figure of her aunt. In the back of the carriage sat La 
Zelie. 

The Marchese Brancacci, who had also been on the watch, 
but nearer at hand, and desiring rather than objecting to be 
seen evidently there for the purpose of meeting them, bustled 
up to the carriage, raising his hat high above his head as he 
did so, and proceeded to hand the ladies out. 

That was the moment Carlo had been waiting for ; but he 
judged it expedient to practise a little deception on his friend, 
whom he knew well enough to be afraid that he really might 
adopt the mode of escape which had been suggested to him. 

“ Very odd they don’t come ! ” said he ; “ let us turn back 
a little way towards the town, and try if we can -see anything 
of them. I shall know the carriage at a distance.” 

So Giulio was led unsuspectingly up to the cannon’s mouth. 


110 THE WINTER WALK AT THE CASCINE. 


All of a sudden he found himself face to face with the Mar- 
chese Braiicacci, and, as it struck him, the most singular little 
figure he had ever seen. It has been said that the Contessa 
Zenobia’s head was somewhat too large for her body ; but the 
defect was rendered infinitely more striking by the adoption 
of head-gear far too large for the head. 

Before he could recover from his surprise at so queer a figure, 
Giulio heard the Marchese Florimond saying : 

“Permit me, Signora Contessa, to present to you my highly 
valued friend Signor Giulio Malatesta. Signor Giulio, the 
Contessa Zenobia Altamari ! ” 

Giulio had of course to make his bow in due form ; and then 
to listen to an inquiry whether this was his first visit to Flor- 
ence, and an invitation to spend his prima sera* at the Pa- 
lazzo Altamari wlienever he should have no better mode of 
disposing of it. But while his ears were thus engaged, his 
eyes and mind were exclusively, and quite in spite of any con- 
scious wull or purpose of his own, occupied with what appeared 
to him to be the most perfect specimen of female beauty, both 
of face and figure, it had ever been his lot to see. 

Stella Altamari was beautiful, exceedingly beautiful, un- 
doubtedl3^ But many a face and form, which had passed 
beneath Giulio^s eyes without exciting in him more than a 
tribute of passing approbation, would have been deemed by 
many another man more attractive than those of Stella. 

In the case of Stella Altamari and Giulio Malatesta, the 
most careless b^’^stander or the closest observer would have 
equally said, that it was impossible to find a more strongly- 
marked contrast between any two faces, figures, temperaments, 
and tones of mind. Malatesta’s face was undeniably hand- 
so^ie, though man}-^ persons might have been rather repelled 
than attracted by the air of habitual melancholy, not un mixed 
with a certain haughty reserve, which characterised the expres- 
sion of his features. His cheek was almost colorless, but the 
clear whiteness of it, which had none of the sallowness of ill 
health, and, yet more, the still greater fairness of the lofty and 
well-formed forehead, marked very visibly at the temples by 
blue veins, contrasted strikingly with the heavy curls of his 
perfectly black hair. The outline of the Grecian nose was 
delicate; and together with the pointed chin, and the extreme 
sweetness and gentleness which mainly characterised the 

® The early part of the evening, before going to a ball or other large party. 


THE WINTER WALK AT THE CASCINE. Hi 


mouth, might have imparted an appearance of too much weak- 
ness to the face, had the expression thus produced not been 
corrected by the frank boldness and determination of the large 
and well-opened eyes. 

This was -the man who, when his glance fell casually on 
that brilliant little butterfly glancing in the sun there, behind 
the lady to whom he was gravely bowing, felt instantly, 
suddenly, unwillingly, much as Adam may be supposed to 
have felt when his eye first rested on Eve ; — felt as if he now 
saw and felt the presence of a woman for the first time in his 
life ; — as if she, that incarnation of joyous youth and thought- 
lessness, were not the only woman in the world, but the only 
object worthy of thought or interest ! 

There could be no doubt about it that the little creature was 
extremely pretty, nay, exceedingly beautiful. No eye could 
make any mistake about that. But Giulio had seen many as 
lovely a face and form before. Was it the brimming, over- 
flowing life and happiness that mantled in her dimpled cheek 
and laughed in her sh3dy glancing, e^'e ? One would not have 
supposed beforehand that that was the type of character to 
recommend itself to the sh}’-, grave man, whose habitual mental 
attitude towards jo^'ousness and mirth was that of shrinking 
from a strange presence with which he had no concern. 

Something else there must have been ; — something besides 
dimpled cheeks, though the most delicate tint of the blush- 
rose was on them ; besides cherry lips, though their smiles 
wreatlied tliem into varied prettiness, changed with each pass- 
ing thought ; something more than a sjdph-like form, though 
only Ariel’s own could have rivalled it in its combination of 
slender delicacy with springy elasticity. And, perhaps, this 
sometliing was to be found in Stella’s face, as in Giulio’s, in 
the eyes. There are laughing eyes, bright and bead-like, 
which can only glitter and sparkle, the laughter of which 
seems only to be surface deep. Stella’s eyes were not of this 
kind. Again, there are laughing e^’es, brilliant and eloquent 
— often wicked in their eloquence, which light up with the 
flashes of wit, and speak from intellect to intellect. But 
neither were Stella’s e3’es of these. They belonged to the cat- 
egory of those whose laughter s[>eaks not onl3’' from intellect to 
intellect, but from heart to heart; which are carriers, not only 
of the sharp messages of wit, but also of the larger inter- 
course and more varied intercommunications of humor; which 


112 THE WINTER WALK AT THE CASCINE. 


can mirror back in sympathy, not one only, but every phase 
and mood of feeling; — laughing eyes, from which the tears 
are not far distant ; changeful eyes, mobile as the sunshine of 
an April day. I think that the special charm of that girlish 
face must have lain in the depths of those profound eyes, 
which had the promise in them so much beyond the transient 
expression of the moment. 

Giulio had time to receive a revelation of his future destiny 
like a lightning flash, but not to render any account to him- 
self of the import and results involved therein, while the Con- 
tessa Zenobia was making her little civil speech and giving 
her invitation. And then she and the Marchese Florimond 
paired off, and he was standing face to face with the Hebe- 
like little creature who had so fascinated him. Carlo had 
been presented to her by his uncle while the Contessa was 
speaking to Giulio, and was already in full talk with her and 
La Zelie. He had taken his place between the two ladies, so 
that Stella’s other side was unoccupied; and when, as the Con- 
tessa and the Marchese moved on, leaving him on that side of 
the path, Carlo introduced him to Zelie and her charge as the 
best and most valued friend he had in the world, it was impos- 
sible to avoid placing himself by her side as they all continued 
their walk together. 

Never did the Contessa Zenobia receive so many ostenta- 
tiously cordial greetings as she did that day; but they did not 
succeed in their aim, for the Marchese Florimond, true to his 
promise to his nephew, managed so that no opportunity arose 
for giving any one of the aspirants an excuse for joining the 
party. Everybody on the walk was soon talking of the beauty 
of the debutante^ and many an inquiry was made as to who 
the handsome but glum-looking fellow by her side could be. 

If she had, on returning from the Cascine, answered the 
entire and simple truth to the question whether she had 
enjoyed her walk, she would have said No ! And if further 
asked, Why not ? she would have been puzzled to reply. She 
would have declared that the stranger had by no means struck 
her as a particularly agreeable person — rather the reverse. 
A’et during the walk she had paid marked attention to every 
word he had said, far more than to the more lively companion 
on the other side of her. But then Carlo Brancacci, though 
it was some years since the}’’ had seen each other, was an old 
acquaintance; and she had, perhaps, felt that courtesy required 


THE WINTER WALK AT THE CASCINE. 113 


her to stand more on ceremony with the stranger. No ! it 
never occurred to her to think that this remarkable looking 
Signor Malatesta was agreeable. Yet, somehow or other, it 
was to him, and to the words he had spoken, that her thoughts 
reverted as soon as she was alone, after her return from the 
Cascine. 

Yet very little had passed during the walk — specially very 
little directly between her and Malatesta — of any interest. 
Carlo had related at length the whole story of the memorable 
exploit at Gombo, omitting no circumstance that could contri- 
bute to place the self-devotion and courage of his friend in 
the strongest possible light. Giulio, who had many times lis- 
tened to Carlo’s repetition of the story with real impatience 
and annoj’ance, was not angry with him for telling it on this 
occasion, though he was sufficiently ill at ease the while to 
be totally unobservant of the glances, expressive of curiosity, 
*• perhaps, rather than admiration, but of interest certainly, 
which Stella ventured to steal at his face from under her long 
eyelashes, while the story was telling. 

Then Carlo had gone on to tell how there never was such a 
fellow as Malatesta; — how there was nothing particularly 
complimentary in having one’s life saved by him, inasmuch as 
he was quite ready to risk his own in anybody’s service who 
might chance to need it; how little Enrico Palmieri, who 
was the youngest of all the students in the University at Pisa, 
only fifteen, quite a child, you know. Signora Stella, had got 
into trouble in the forest of the Cascine,* at Pisa,'with one of 
the half-wild breed of buffaloes there ; — how the other fellows 
who were with him ran away when the enraged brute charged 
them, and little Palmieri stumbled and fell ; and how it would 
doubtless have gone hard with him, had it not chanced that 
Malatesta, who was rambling about in the forest in his queer 
solitary way, had come up just in time to save him ; — how he 
had faced the animal, and cowed it by his cool courage, &c. 
&c. &c. And this history had led to the discovery that the 
Enrico Palmieri, who had been thus saved, was the youngest 
brother of Clara Palmieri, Stella’s dear and special friend at 

o The Cascine near Pisa, towards the sea-coast, is a very different sort of place 
from the Florentine park and gardens bearing the same name. The word is applied 
at Pisa to an extensive tract of very wild country, partly pasture, partly swamp, 
and partly forest, lying along the coast between Pisa and Leghorn. It is there that 
the celebrated breed of camels, the only instance of their propagation in Europe, 
have existed for the last three centuries. 

7 


114 THE WINTER WALK AT THE CASCINE. 


the convent at Pistoia. And out of this, some little conversa- 
tion had arisen between Stella and Giulio. But it was very 
little. 

There was one other point at which the conversation had 
strayed to a topic, which had struck a still more strongly vi- 
brating chord of sympath}" between them. Something had 
been said about projected fun and frolic for the winding up of 
the Carnival, in reply to which, Malatesta had said that he was 
not sure that any of them would be there at the end of the 
Carnival ; — that it was very evident that the hour was near at 
hand, when the countr}’’ would need their hands and arms for 
other purposes than Carnival revelry; — that a movement was 
on the eve of taking place which would call every man who 
deserved the name of an Italian to the frontiers. To all 
which Carlo had replied, in his light epicurean way, that fight- 
ing the Austrians was work for Lent, that Carnival-time was 
Carnival-time, and that it would be quite soon enough to think 
of going to the frontier on the other side of Ash-Wednesday. 

^‘Nay, Carlo miof ” said Malatesta, while the eloquent blood 
rushed to his pale cheek, and his eyes flashed out with enthu- 
siasm, “ this is the Lenten-tide — the long dreary Lenten-tide, 
while the Austrian heel is still on our neck, and the time has 
not yet come for striking the blow for our final deliverance. 
That will be the true Carnival-time ! Would that its dawn 
had come ! ” 

And as he spoke, Stella’s cheek flushed also, and her eye, 
too, flashed fire, and her delicate little pink nostril distended 
itself; and one rapid interchange of glances passed between 
her and Giulio, which was sufficient to prove to both of them, 
that at least on one subject there was a strong bond of sympa- 
thy between them. 

And for the moment the conviction that such was the case 
had sent a thrill of pleasure to Giulio’s heart. But it was 
succeeded in the next instant by a bitter taking of himself to 
task for the folly of permitting himself to receive gratification 
from such a circumstance. And altogether, when the ladies 
had returned to their carriage — the Marchese Florimond hav- 
ing accepted the fourth seat in it for his return to the city — 
Carlo found his companion, as they walked homewards to- 
gether, more taciturn, more sad, and more bitter in his stric- 
tures on men and things, than usual. Carlo tried with very 
little success to make him talk about Stella. He said, in reply 


THE WINTER WALK AT THE CASCINE. 115 


to a question on the subject, shortly but emphatically, that she 
was very beautiful ; and when Carlo, for the sake of drawing 
him out, had added, that beyond her prettiness she seemed to 
have nothing in her, he answered decisively, that the very 
little means of judging he had, would, as far as they went, 
have led him to form a quite different opinion. 

When the privacy of his own room gave him an opportunity 
for the reflection he stood in need of, his self-communings were 
longer and more hitter. What madness was this that had 
seized his heart and brain ? He, the outcast, the nobody, to 
come out owl-like from his obscurity, and flutter, dazzled, 
round the brightest creature of the sunlight 1 

As for Stella, ar? impression of some sort, strong enough to 
make her feel a desire for speaking on the subject, had been 
made on her, too, by that walk in the Cascine. But her medi- 
tations and speculations on the matter had far less of self- 
knowledge in them. 

Zelie was the only person whose aid she could seek in her 
attempts to obtain some insight into the nature of the impres- 
sion that had been produced upon her. And Zelie proved to 
be disqualified by total lack of sympathy from giving any aid, 
whatever in the diflicult 3 ^ Malatesta might have been the 
most splendid match in all Italy for what Zelie knew to the 
contrary. But if duennas were furnished ex officio with some 
sixth sense for the infallible detection of the approach of pov- 
erty, she could not have set her face more decidedly against 
him. She contrasted him in the most unfavorable manner 
with Carlo Brancacci ; she declared that he looked as if he did 
not live upon wholesome food, but eat grass like the wicked 
king with the long name in the Bible ; and she maintained 
that a great Newfoundland dog could and wmuld have done all 
that he w'as said to have done in the w^ay of heroic enterprise. 

The result of this was, that Stella, being thus driven to re- 
vise her impressions and question the accuracy of them, was 
led to the deliberate and matured opinion that nobody but a 
very noble fellow would have acted as he did at Gombo, and 
in the forest ; and that he did not look at all as if he fed on 
grass — quite the contrary. 


116 


THE PALMIERI FAMILY. 


CHAPTEE V. 

THE PALMIERI FAMILY. 

In that memorable 1848, the Carnival in Florence proceed- 
ed in its due course as usual. As usual, those who had danced 
through twenty Carnivals noted some changes in the dramatis 
personce, who were playing the old parts before the old painted 
scenes. Some who had hobbled on with desperate courage to 
the end of the mad whirl in 1847, could no more come to the 
scratch when time was up in 1848. And worthj^ dames, who 
danced their last Carnival out some dozen years ago, and now 
reappear on the scene with daughters eager for their turn, find 
that all is going on still much as it was in their day. 

As to the Contessa Zenobia, she, we may be quite sure, will 
die in harness ! 

One good thing at least there was to be said for poor Zeno- 
bia — one very good thing. Those who persist in sitting out 
successive tables full of feasters at the festive board, are apt to 
grudge the newly-arrived guests their places. This was not 
the case with Zenobia. She never grudged the young new 
comers their place or their full share of the feasL So that 
Stella, under her Aunt Zenobia’s auspices, was not like to find 
her first Carnival a slow one. 

And Stella herself? Never, to say the truth, did butterfly 
emerge from its state of chrysalis obscurity into the sunshine 
of its summer existence more ready and eager for the light 
and the enjoj’ment, than did Stella from the pale monotonous 
life of her convent. Operas, balls, masquerades, parades on 
the Corso, and sunny walks in the Cascine, all were welcome ; 
no form of Carnival gaiety came amiss to her. She took her 
place at the table hungry and athirst for the promised pleasure 
feast. 

But it may be doubted whether, at the very outset, the full 
capacity for enjoying all that was oifered for her enjoyment 
had not been seriously damaged. For the due enjoyment of a 
first Carnival it is indespensable to be heart-whole. Now, 
Stella had not fallen in love with Giulio Malatesta at first 
sight, as the phrase is, as he had done, even to his own knowl- 
edge, with her. By no means so ! But neither, after the date 


THE PALMIERI FAMILY. 117 

of that first walk in the Cascine, could she hare been said to 
be “ fanc3'-free.’^ 

It is certain that Stella was no longer fancy-free. At her 
aunt’s evening receptions she would ask the Marchese Flori- 
mond whether they should see Signor Carlo that evening, the 
real matter of interest in the question being, whether they 
were likely to see his inseparable friend. At the opera her 
e^^e would go searching about among the crowd of black hats 
and bearded faces grouped just within the doors of the pit, in 
quest of a certain pale and sad-looking face, which had already 
established itself in her fancy as an object of more interest — 
curiosity, Stella called it to herself — than any other. And 
before a week was over, no dance at the balls, to tell the honest 
truth, had any interest or flavor in it, save the one, or perhaps 
two, in the course of the evening danced with that same object 
of so much speculative curiosity. Before the end of the week, 
the dance or dances of the night for Stella were those danced 
with him. 

As may be easily supposed, all this did not take place be- 
fore the ej^es of all Florence without more than one kind 
friend having felt it to be their dutj’ to discover who and what 
the stranger was who was very evidentlj^ finding favor in the 
eyes of the little lady, the observed of all observers ; and, 
having discovered it, to convey a word of caution on the sub- 
ject to the Countess Zenobia. But Zenobia utterly scouted 
the notion that the amusements of the ball-room could exercise 
any influence over the prosaic and altogether business-like 
affair of marriage. Malatesta, she declared, was a very pretty 
fellow ; and she thought that her niece showed great tact and 
discretion in diverting herself with one who was in a position 
to make all thought of any serious interest between them out 
of the question. 

It was about a week after her arrival in Florence, on the 
morning after one of the balls, at which she had been using a 
discretion the license thus allowed her, that Stella found an 
opportunit}^ of making the visit she had spoken of to her aunt 
on the day of her coming. It was difficult amid all the occu- 
pations of the Carnival to find an hour for the purpose ; and 
if Stella had not perseveringly insisted on it, the visit to her 
convent friend’s mother would never have been made. But 
the fact was, that Stella, since that first walk in the Cascine, 
had become greatly more interested in the old lady and in the 


118 


THE PALMIERI FAMILY. 


promised visit than she had been before. She knew from her 
friend Clara Palmieri that her brother Enrico, the boy whom 
Malatesta had saved from being gored by the buffalo in the 
Cascine at Pisa, was to spend the Carnival holiday with his 
mother, and she promised herself to get from him the whole 
history of the adventure, with all its details. 

Carolina Palmieri, the mother of Clara Palmieri, Stella’s 
convent friend, of the boy Enrico, and of another son, Rinaldo, 
also a student at Pisa, was a widow, living on small means, in 
an obscure lodging near the Porta Pomana. A few years 
before that Carnival-tide, when the aspect of the times in 
Plorence was very different from what it was in 1848, and 
when the particulars of Signora Palmieri’s history were more 
fresh in the minds of the Florentines, it would hardl}’’ have 
been prudent for a young lady in the position of Stella Alta- 
mari to visit her. Her husband had been a well-to-do silk 
merchant and broker, whose career had been a prosperous one 
until two misfortunes overtook him. The first of these was a 
quarrel with the powerful clergy of San Lorenzo, his parish, 
arising out of certain acts of ecclesiastical oppression, and re- 
sulting in a permanent enmity between him and the authori- 
ties of the Archiepiscopal Court of Florence. The second, 
which a due preference for spiritual over temporal interests 
would, perhaps, classifj^ as a blessing rather than a misfor- 
tune, was an intimacy with certain enthusiastic members of 
the Vaudois Church, into which he had been led by various 
journe 3 's to Turin, connected with the business of his calling. 
The two circumstances together made Giovacchino Palmieri 
into a heretic ; — not merely one who had no belief whatever 
in the doctrines or teaching of the Catholic Church but one 
who did strongly believe something else. 

Now, at that time the court of Pome was urgently pressing 
the Grand-Ducal Court of Tuscany to abolish that part of the 
Leopoldine code which assumed a larger measure of ecclesias- 
tical liberty to Tuscany than was enjoyed by anj^ other portion 
of Ital 3 ^ The Grand-Duke was very desirous of contenting 
the Pope in this matter. But the Tuscan population, which 
has alwa 3 '-s regarded that Leopoldine code much as an Eng- 
lishman regards Magna Charta or the Bill of Pights, assumed 
an attitude on the question, which caused the Grand-Duke’s 
advisers and ministers to recoil before the probable result of 
the avowed repeal of it. And the result of this state of things 


THE PALMIERI FAMILY. 


119 


was an extreme desire on the part of the Tuscan government 
to prove its orthodoxy and devotion to the Papacy, and to pre- 
vent any cause being given to Pome to consider or stigmatise 
Tuscany as tainted with heresy. 

Under tliese circumstances, it will be readily understood 
that Giovacchino Palmieri was not only a mark for ecclesias- 
tical hatred, but an object of real annoyance and trouble to 
the government. And the foolish man — (or the wise man, 
according to the standard of those who may apply either 
epithet) — would not keep quiet, but played into the hands 
of his priestly enemies by committing overt acts of religious 
heterodox}’’ and insubordination. He not only possessed and 
read the Bible, but persuaded others to do the like. Already 
the soul of his wife had been destroyed by his evil influence 
and teaching ; and it was feared that the souls of his childreu 
would also be lost. So the pestiferous heretic, inasmuch as 
the degeneracy of the times and the decay of faith will no 
longer tolerate the salutary discipline of the stake and faggot, 
had to undergo his martyrdom by ruin instead of by fire. By 
ruin, imprisonment, and heart-break, he was done to death at 
last ; and a certain measure of conformity, sufficient for “ de- 
cency,’’ was forced upon his widow and children. Carolina 
Palmieri had been a devoted wife ; she had adopted her hus- 
band’s opinions ; she had shared his ruin ; and it may be sup- 
posed that the lip-service which was forced upon her and her 
children, for fear of worse, was not very profound or sincere. 
In consideration of it, however, such as it was, and in consid- 
eration of the ruin which had been inflicted on her husband, 
a free maintenance and education had been offered to the 
widow for her daughter Clara, the eldest of the family, on the 
sole condition of her accepting it in a convent at Pistoia. Ne- 
cessity has no law, and the widow accepted the offer. 

Possibly she knew enough of her daughter Clara to be 
aware that in sending her to the convent she was not so much 
accepting a dubious benefit, as actively and efficiently carrying 
on the war against her husband’s persecutors. At all events, 
had the reverend guardians of the fold had the smallest idea 
of what they were doing when they sent Clara Palmieri into 
iV, they would have preferred any other mode of disposing of 
her. She was only sixteen at the time she entered the con- 
vent ; but she carried with her a mind well stored with the 
results of her father’s teaching, and a heart burning with the 
recollection of his wrongs. In a word, the Church, in catching 


/ 


120 THE PALMIERI FAMILY. 

Clara Palmieri, bad, iu the full sense of the original applica- 
tion of the phrase, caught a Tartar ! She was a girl of very 
considerable powers of mind, of rare force of character, and 
of enthusiastic temperament. She had carried to the convent 
at Pistoia a bitter and inexhaustible hatred against the priests, 
the government, and the whole constitution of things in 
Church and State ; was ready at any moment to become a 
conspirator or active enemy to either ; and in the mean while 
satisfied her conscience and her enmity by waging a secret 
but successful war against them, as an apostle of heresy and 
liberalism among the pet lambs of the sheepfold into which she 
had been admitted. 

Stella Altamari had been one of her greatest proselytes, if 
not altogether in respect to matters religious, 3"et to the ut- 
most extent in matters political. So that she was well pre- 
pared to welcome and sympathise with the new hopes that 
were now dawning on Italy, and to accept as the heroes of 
her imagination those who distinguished themselves in the 
work of realising them. 

When she had left Pistoia, Clara had asked her to call on 
her mother at Florence, and to be the bearer of a letter to her. 
A perfectly trustwortliy chance of holding such communica- 
tion with her mother was not an every-da}’' occurrence with 
Clara ; for of course all letters sent out of the convent, in 
accordance with the rules of its government, passed under the 
surveillance of the mother superior. So the opportunity of 
writing to her mother in all security was a valuable one to her. 

When Stella, accompanied by Mademoiselle Zelie, had 
succeeded in finding the house in which Signora Palmieri 
lived, and, leaving the carriage at the door, had, to the great 
astonishment of the footman, climbed to the topmost story of 
the house, Zelie perceived at once on entering the apartment 
that her misgivings as to this Clara Palmieri’s fitness to be 
the friend of her charge were well founded. For in truth, the 
indications of poverty which met their ej’^es were unmistakable. 
There was neither carpet on the floor nor fire on the hearth ; 
but the tall old woman who sat with a bit of matting under 
her cliair, and a scaldino * under her feet, near the window, 
was not only clean, but nice looking. 

® A little box with an iron pan of burning braise in it; sometimes, among the 
poor, a small earthen pot with a high arched handle is used. And, indeed, the use 
of the “scaldino” iu this form is so common, that official people in high position 
may be seen in their olBces transactiug business with their pot of braise iu their 
bauds. 


THE PALMIERI FAMILY. 


121 


The widow rose from her seat to receive her strange and 
very smart visitors ; but did not seem inclined to invite them 
to seat themselves till Stella had made her understand who 
she was. Then she became all cordialitj’-, and the letter was 
produced, and the anxious mother, having first apologised to 
her visitors, proceeded to read it at once. 

“ Ah, Signorina ! ” she said, coming across the room to the 
place where Stella was sitting, and taking both her hands in 
hers, how can I thank you for all the kindness you have 
shown my poor daughter. She says that the convent life will 
be doubly dreary now that you have quitted it.” 

It was rather Clara who was kind to me. Signora,” replied 
Stella. “ Indeed, I may say that the best part of all I learned 
there has been due to her. She led me to think it likely 
that your younger son would spend the Carnival holidays with 
^^you at Florence. Is that so ? ” 

Enrico ! yes, Signorina, my little boy is at home. Xot at 
this moment, that is — for he is out somewhere — but he is with 
me for the holidays.” 

“Your little boy. Signora Palmieri ! Why, is not he a 
student at Pisa ? ” asked Stella, who knew very well that he 
was so, but was desirous of keeping the conversation on the 
subject of Enrico. 

“ Yes, Signorina, he is a student, and must soon return to 
join his brother. And he would not be pleased if he had 
heard me call him ‘ my little boy.^ He is so always to me. 
And the truth is, that he is young for his age, and he is only 
fifteen. And he is a delicate child, too ! and my heart mis- 
gives me, Signorina, when I think of his going back to 
Pisa ! ” 

“ Nay ! Surely there is nothing very dreadful in a student’s 
life at Pisa, especially with his brother to take care of him,” 
said Stella ; adding, with a smile and a shy look at the old 
lady, “ it is not every day that one runs the risk of being 
gored to death by a buffalo ! ” 

“What! you know that story, Signorina? It’s likely 
enough ! for my Enrico is never tired of telling it to anybody 
who will listen to him I ” 

“ But I did not hear it from anybody who heard it from him. 
Signora. There was another person engaged in the adventure, 
jmu know ! ” 

“ Altro ! Don’t imagine that the name of Giulio Malatesta 


122 


THE PALMIERI FAMILY. 


'will ever be forgotten by me ! The brave, noble lad ! When 
I pray for my children, Signorina, I pray for Giulio Malatesta 
with them. What a fine fellow he must be ! I would pay 
something to be able to give him a mother’s thanks and bless- 
ing ! You must have heard the story, then, from some one to 
whom he told it ? ” 

. “ Well, I don’t think he is in the habit of telling it to many 
people,” returned Stella, who had listened with extreme pleas- 
ure to the expression of Signora Palmieri’s gratitude. “ But 
I heard it from a very intimate friend of his, and — and I 
think I heard the story right, because — Signor !RIalatesta was 
present at the time, and did not contradict any part of it !” 

“ You know him, then ? ” cried the old lady, eagerly. 

Yes — slightly ! I have recently been made acquainted 
with him b}’' a fellow-student and intimate friend of his. Sig- 
nor Carlo Brancacci.” 

Oh ! I must see him ! I can’t let him go from Florence 
without seeing him, and thanking him for my boy’s life ! 
Eurico, too ! He will be so delighted to bring Signor Giulio 
to receive his mother’s blessing ! I would go to wait on 
him ” ^ 

“ Oh no. Signora ! I think we can manage it better than 
that ! Signor Carlo could bring him here, or your son might 

come but, you were saying. Signora, when we happened to 

speak of this queer buffalo adventure, that you were anxious 
about Signor Enrico’s return to Fisa?” 

How can I be otherwise, Signorina — and he a mere child ! 
But it is a time for all mothers to be anxious, and for many to 
have nothing more to be anxious for in this world, before 
long ! ” 

“You mean because of the war. Signora?” asked Stella, 
timidly. 

“ Surely, Signorina mia ! Is it not a time for every Italian 
woman to be anxious — mothers, wives, and sisters ? But the 
motheus most ! — the mothers most, Signorina ! ” 

“ But a time also for every Italian mother, wife, and sister, 
to rejoice and thank God, who has either husband, son, or 
brother to aid in the good cause, the holy cause ! But of your 
two sons, Signora Balmieri, our country can ask only one of 
you ! From what jmu say, your second is too 3'’oung ” 

“ That is it, Signorina ! There are plans among the stu- 
dents — he will never consent to stay behind, he will go with 
his brother ! — Hush ! That is his step on the stairs ! ” 


THE PALMIERI FAMILY. 


123 


And, in the next minute, Enrico Palmieri entered the room, 
looking not a little astonished at finding two such elegant vis- 
itors with his mother. 

“ These ladies are friends of th}?- sister, my child ! ” said she, 
in reply to his glance of inquiry. ‘‘ This is the Signorina 
Stella Altamari, who has most kindly brought me a letter from 
the convent at Pistoia. But she is also acquainted, as I have 
found out, with another friend of ours.” 

The boy colored up, as he turned towards Stella with a 
smiling glance of inquiry. He was, as his mother and as Carlo 
Brancacci had said, evidentl}' a delicate lad, and young of his 
age ; slenderly made, with the complexion and features of a 
girl more than of a boy, and with a large quantity of light- 
brown curls waving about his forehead — evidently a nervous 
temperament and organisation. But there was a bright, iutel- 
^^ligent, and eager look about his face, and the mobile expres- 
sion of his light-blue eye, and delicately-cut lips, which inter- 
ested all who came in contact with him. 

“ I think,” said Stella, with a bright and charming smile, 
in answer to the questioning of his e3^cs, “ That you have 
heard of one Giulio Malatesta — a fellow-student of yours, I 
believe. Signor Enrico ? ” 

“ Heard of Giulio Malatesta ! Oh, Signorina, do you know 
Giulio ? Have jmu seen him ? ” 

“ Was there not some story of an accident in the Cascine 
at Pisa?” said Stella, giving the old lady a look which told 
her to be silent, and let Enrico give his own account of the 
adventure ; ‘‘ something about a buftalo that ran after Signor 
Malatesta, and that he ran avvaj’- from, or some such thing ? ” 

“No, Signora ! No such thing at all ! I wonder that peo- 
ple are not ashamed of spreading such lies ! ” said the boy, 
while the bright blood rushed up under the transparent skin 
to the roots of his hair, and his 03- es flashed with indignation. 
“ If 3'ou wish to know the truth, Signorina, of what happened 
in the Cascine, J can tell you. 1 was with a lot of our fellows 
in the wild part of the forest, half way to Leghorn, nearly, 
when we came in sight of half a dozen or so of those ugly 
black brutes — doubtless 3’'ou have never seen them, Signorina 
— they are like devil’s cows ; and one of the beasts edged 
liimself away from the rest, and began pawing the turf, and 
lashing himself with his long tail. We began to make off as 
quick as we could walk, for we did not like the wa3^ of the 


124 


THE PALMIERI FAMILY 


brute. All of a sudden, he put down his head and rushed 
after us. Well, we all ran for it; but, as ill luck would have 
it, I put my foot into a wheel-rut, and rolled over. Then I 
thought it was all up with me, I can tell you. And in about 
a minute more, the great black beast would have had his horns 
into me ; when, all of a sudden, Malatesta, passing along a 
forest track which wound round a clump of pines hard by, saw 
me on the ground and the buffalo coming towards me. So, 
instead of running away like all the rest of them, he faced the 
beast, and ran at him, and turned him. If he had not come at 
that moment, I should certainly have been killed ; and, if he 
had not succeeded in frightening the brute, he would have 
been killed himself in the attempt to save me. And now I 
think you will admit, Signorina, that I have reason to speak 
in praise of Giulio Malatesta ! 

“ Yes ! I think it may be admitted that you have reason. 
Signor Enrico, to think well of this Signor Giulio Mala- 
testa ! ’’ 

“ But you must not suppose that I am the only one! ” said 
the boy, eagerly, answering to Stella’s emphasis on the word 
“ you,” which was slyly intended to produce exactly that effect ; 
‘‘ there was the time when he saved the life of Signor Bran- 
cacci at Gombo ! That was even a worse business than mine 
with the buffalo 1 ” 

And then Enrico proceeded to give the history of that ad- 
venture with an abundance of circumstantial detail, which, as 
it might not interest others as much as it did Stella, may be 
omitted. 

But still Stella seemed unwilling to quit the subject. She 
had questions to ask, and explanations ; and Enrico appeared 
quite as willing as she to continue the conversation to an in- 
definite length. Till at last Mademoiselle Zelie declared that 
if the gentleman had jumped into the water to pull anything 
else out, the story of it must be told another day, for that the 
Signora Contessa would think that they were never coming 
home any more. Whereupon Stella consented to bring her 
visit to a conclusion, on the condition that La Zelie would 
promise to come again another day, together with Carlo Bran- 
cacci and Malatesta. For she had set her heart on being 
present at the meeting between Giulio and Signora Palmieri ; 
and busied her thoughts as she returned home with plans, to 
be executed by Carlo Brancacci’s assistance, for bringing 


WHAT CARLO BRANCACCI INTENDED. 


125 


Malatesta under the avalanche of maternal gratitude that was 
ready to be poured out on him, without letting him know what 
was awaiting him. 


CHAPTEK VI. 

WHAT CARLO BRANCACCI INTENDED. 

The visit to Signora Palmieri thus planned by Stella was 
successfully put into execution, nor was it the only one which 
followed. Two or three times during the ensuing weeks, 
Mademoiselle Zelie, with her charge and the two young men, 
'^returned to spend an hour with the old lady in the Via Po- 
mana. As the duty of keeping La Zelie in good humor on 
these occasions devolved on Carlo, who perfectly well knew 
how to do so, and who was a great favorite with the little 
Frenchwoman in consequence, the drives to the Via Pomana 
afforded the other couple of the partie carree opportunities for 
conversation, which were no longer neglected by either of 
them. And the visits to Signora Palmieri, and the common 
interests arising out of her anxieties about her children, had 
done more to produce an intimacy between Stella and Giulio, 
than the course of operas, balls and parties, at which the^^ had 
been constantly seeing each other. 

But a feeling of intimacy having been thus produced, the 
balls and the operas did their part of the work, which, to say 
plainly the truth. Carlo Brancacci fully purposed and intended 
should be done, and they did it quickly and surely. It was a 
cleverly imagined stroke of polic}^, too, on his part, to monopo- 
lise himself; as far as possible, all the dances, and all the arm- 
givings up and down opera-house stairs, and all the spare 
moments of Stella that Giulio could not contrive to monopolise 
for himself. It kept off other pretenders. It very effectually 
threw dust into the eyes of the Florentine Carnival world. 
Then, in the third place, this assiduity on the part of Carlo 
ensured that Stella’s mind should be pretty constantly occu- 
pied with the thoughts and ideas that he wished to fill it with. 
When she was not listening to Malatesta’s voice, she was lis- 


126 


WHAT CARLO BRANCACCI INTENDED. 


tening to his praises; — praises uttered apparently without the 
smallest intention of especially recommending Giulio to her ; — ■ 
praises with regard to his standing among the young men of 
the University, with regard to his nobleness of character, and, 
above all, with regard to the part he had taken, and was 
taking, in the political movement that was going on among 
the students ; — praises which were already the sweetest sounds 
that could fall on Stella’s ears. 

Among the restof his constant talk with Stella about Giulio, 
Carlo had frequently spoken of his unfortunate social position. 
Carlo did not ever speak of Malatesta’s position as bearing 
upon any question of marriage, but merely as the cause of 
much unhappiness, and, indeed, unreasonable depression to 
him, and as the true explanation of much of the reserved and 
retiring haughtiness of nature that was observable in him. 
All this was said in such sort as to enlist the compassion of 
his hearer, whose bright laughing eyes would often take an 
expression that was more natural' than familiar to them, as she 
listened to the stories, which were so well calculated to send 
her back to her next tete-a-tete with the object of them in the 
mood most fitted to secure the end at which Carlo was aiming. 

Before the Carnival was half over, the truth, which had 
flashed upon Malatesta with the suddenness of an electric 
shock at the moment of that first meeting with Stella on the 
winter walk in the Cascine, had more gradually made itself 
unmistakably manifest to her also. She at length knew, and 
admitted to herself that she knew, that she loved Giulio Ma- 
latesta. 

Stella did not fall in love. She, as some writer has phrased 
it well, walked quietly into it ; not quite knowing whither she 
was going at the outset of the path ; but with her eyes open, 
and on the alert to take note of every object which could 
enlighten her on the subject as she proceeded. And she had 
made no effort to retrace her steps when she had first begun 
clearly to understand whither they were leading her. The 
best judgment she could bring to bear upon the subject 
sanctioned the choice her heart had made with full approval. 

Stella had had to direct her steps by the unassisted light 
that was in her, and by the application of that to the facts 
gieanable from the abundant chattering of Carlo and Enrico 
Palmieri. But that way of walking into love, instead of 
falling into it, is a very safe one, and has special advantages 


WHAT CARLO BRANCACCI INTENDED. 12T 

of its own. And those who fancy that the method is in any 
wise incompatible with intensity of passion when it has been 
walked into, or with an}^ portion of' the poetr3»’, romance, or 
exquisite savor thereof, know nothing about the matter. 
Stella could now, some fifteen years after the date of the 
events here described, tell them a very different story. 

In one respect, however, she had been walking in a mist of 
delusion. She had utterly misinterpreted the significance of 
her aunt’s words, actions, and character. Liberalism was the 
fashion at that time; liberalism of all sorts — in politics, in 
social philosophy, in religion. When it was the fashion to 
wear high head-gear or low-cut dresses. La Zenobia wore her 
head-gear higher, and her dresses lower than anybody else. 
And now her liberalism was louder and more thorough-going 
than that of the world in which she lived. To La Zenobia it 
seemed, moreover, but the coming into vogue again of the 
'fashion of her jmuth. Poor Stella, in the innocency of her 
own simple straightforward political faith, imagined that her 
aunt was in reality free from any of those old-world notions, as 
she herself considered them, which would have opposed them- 
selves to such a marriage as she was beginning to contemplate 
as the only one she would ever consent to make. She was 
confirmed in her impression by the absence of all attempt on 
the part of the Contessa to put any obstacle in the way of her 
intercourse with Giulio. 

It was the less surprising that Stella should have deceived 
herself on this point, in that Carlo Brancacci had been equallj^ 
taken in by the Contessa Zenobia’s pseudo-liberalism. He 
also fancied that little or no difficult}’' would be made about 
permitting a marriage between the wealthy heiress and a man 
so certain, as he conceived, to take a distinguished part in the 
great events with which the political future of Italy was preg- 
nant. 

He was, indeed, far less unreasonable in his expectations 
than the great majority of them. For Malatesta reall}’’ was 
one from whom much might be expected. He combined in a 
rare degree the two great mutually-controlling and yet mutu- 
allj’-completing qualities of fiery enthusiasm and calm self- 
restraint. Those who knew him but as an ordinary acquain- 
tance, considered him, especially for an Italian, a singularly 
cold and unimpulsive man. But those who knew him well, 
were aware that his habitual self-restraint did but act the part, 


128 


WHAT CARLO BRANCACCI INTENDED. 


as it were, of the furnace door, which restrains and confines, 
but, at the same time, concentrates and intensifies, the action 
of the fire it shuts in. He was capable of all the self-devotion 
of a woman, controlled and directed by the courage and truth- 
fulness of a man. His ardent patriotism took no color from 
any reflection of self prospectively ; and, retrospectively, was 
only so far tinged by his own wrongs and those of his mother 
as to be conscious of the spur of a righteous indignation. 
There was a lofty vein of poetry and high aspiration in his 
mental constitution, which secured him as a disciple of the 
splendid, but fatally utopian, Giobertinian teaching. Many of 
the best minds of the rising generation at that time were cap- 
tivated by those grand and golden dreams ; — of the best 
minds, if the purest, the rnost poetical, and the most high 
toned are to be considered such ; — not the best, if we allow 
the term only to the most useful, the most practical, and the 
clearest. 

The Utopia which Gioberti and his school pointed out to his 
countrymen as a promised land from the Pisgah-heights of his 
humanitarian faitli, was, in truth, a seductive and pleasant- 
looking country, specially in the eyes of men who were fully 
purposed to leave their Egypt and all its fleshpots, together 
with its bondage, behind them, and who, nevertheless, did not 
as yet very clearly see any other well-defined and satisfactory 
path through the desert-sands that lay in front. Take the 
splendid theory and the stupendous story of the Papacy ; — • 
present the former elaborated into more than its own best 
form and grandeur ; — extract from the latter not so much all 
that it contains of good or great, as all the possibilities of good- 
ness and greatness that an of its phases have suggested; — 
commend the ideal thus formed to exclusive patriotism and 
national self-love, by representing it as a special and unrivalled 
Italian production, heritage, and possession, and a guarantee 
for future Italian primacy ; — appeal to those higher and larger 
social aspirations which keep alive the belief in' human pro- 
gress, urge men to the realization of it, and raise the work of 
revolution above the sphere of mere political interests and con- 
tests ; promise also to those finer and subtler cravings of the 
human soul which demand some clue of connection with the 
world of the unseen, and some means of satisfaction for spir- 
itual thirst, the resting-place of an ideal neither too new and 
strange to be acceptable, nor too narrow and discredited to be 


YOUNG EYES. 


129 


longer tenable ; — such was the Giobertinian recipe and theory 
for the regeneration of Italy ; and it is not surprising that it 
found favor with many of the choicer spirits among the Italian 
youth. 

Faith was needed for the climbing of that Pisgah-height 
from which this beautiful mirage of a promised land was visible. 
And all the ingenuous youth with fair high narrow foreheads, 
not too square at the corners nor too broad at the brows, went 
up, and prophesied much in those daj^s of all that they saw 
there. 

Giulio Malatesta at that time went up with others to the 
Giobertinian Pisgah-top, not because he had faith in the possi- 
bility of good being evolved from a lie, but because the poeti- 
cal and enthusiastic temperament is not lynx-eyed for the dis- 
covery of a lie when it is draped in the purple raiment of shin- 
ing imaginations. 

Upon the whole, then, it cannot be said that Carlo Bran- 
cacci’s faith in Malatesta was an unfounded or absurd one ; 
or, taking into due consideration the seething condition of 
men’s minds at that time, and the prevailing impression that a 
new era was about to open, in which high courage, talent, and 
patriotism were sure to make their way into the new world’s 
first ranks, that it was an altogether preposterous idea that 
the due winning of Stella’s hand might be within his reach. 


CHAPTER VII. 

YOUNG EYES. 

There were three persons and three only, to whose minds 
the idea of the possibility of a marriage between the brilliant 
beauty and great heiress Stella Altimari and the friendless 
student Giulio Malatesta, had as yet presented itself. These 
three were the parties concerned themselves, and Carlo Bran- 
cacci. It has been seen that Stella had permitted herself to 
enter, and was suffering herself to pursue the path that opened 
before her, without any serious misgiving as to the goal to 
which it was leading her. Each step in advance, she was well 
8 


130 


YOUNG EYES. 


aware, made return more and more impossible for her. But 
with each step, also, the path became more and more lovely 
and pleasant. And she walked on in it, nothing doubting. 

Carlo Brancacci also was, as has been seen, of good heart in 
the matter. To him also it seemed that the marriage in 
question was a feasible one, likely to be prosperously carried 
out, and to make the happiness of both parties. And he was 
perfectly contented with the progress that was being made in 
the matter. 

It remains to inquire what Malatesta’s own ideas and feel- 
ings were on the subject. 

When he had, before he was introduced to the Contessa 
Zenobia, talked half jokingly, half sadly, of escaping from 
that ordeal by rushing into the shelter of the neighboring 
wood, he had spoken from a general sense of the barrier that 
existed between him and “ society,’’ in the narrowly technical 
sense of that word. But when that ceremony had been un- 
dergone, and his consequent introduction to Stella had taken 
place, and had produced on him the effect which has been 
described, he began to think that in sober earnest and sadness, 
his wisest course would be to run away even then from the 
danger he was in. That danger, however, was of a kind from 
which men rarely do run away, however lively maj’- be their 
sense of it. They very constantly promise themselves that 
they will run away as soon as the danger shall have discovered 
itself to be more certainly and fatally dangerous. By the time 
Malatesta on the evening of that day had reached the quiet- 
ude of his own chamber, to which he had all through the 
afternoon and evening hours been adjourning the more serious 
examination of the subject, the danger had become very 
decidedly recognisable and imminent. And he came to the 
natural conclusion that prudence, wisdom, discretion, duty, 
self-preservation, and sundry fine qualities and judicious con- 
sideration, imperatively counselled a hasty retreat. 

The notion that his miserable presence in Florence, or his 
absence from it, could in any way affect the happiness of Stella 
Altamari, would have appeared to him more preposterous than 
any other imaginable absurdity. 

Was it povssible, as the weeks went on, to avoid perceiving 
that Stella’s ear was always ready for any word of his; that 
Stella’s hand for a dance was alwa37’s his when he asked for it? 
Evidently the ma-nifestations of the gratitude of that gentle 


YOENQ EYES. 


131 


heart for the service he had rendered Carlo Brancacci; — which 
he was sick of hearing mentioned, and could almost find in 
his heart to repent of having performed ! 

There were plenty of otlier symptoms, too, legible enough 
by more experienced and less passion-blinded eyes ; but 
illegible by Uiulio. Were those repeated visits to Signora 
Palmieri in her garret in the Via Romana wholly due to 
Stella’s pleasure in that old lady’s society ? If anybod}’ else, 
save the person interested in the discovery, had been in Mala- 
testa’s place, Stella’s secret would have been easily divined. 
Still Giulio remained blind ; — perversely so, Stella would have 
thought in her heart of hearts, if she had been able to read 
exactly all that there was in his. 

Nevertheless, as the days of continual intercourse went on, 
the intimacy between them necessarily increased; and at last 
it came to pass that Malatesta’s eyes were in some degree 
'opened. 

He happened to go one day alone to the lodging of Signora 
Palmieri, having to send some message to Pisa, which he 
purposed doing by means of Eurico writing to his brother 
Kinaldo. 

“ This is the first opportunity I have had,” said Enrico, as 
Giulio was about leaving the widow’s apartment, ‘‘of con- 
gratulating you. Signor Giulio, on your ^ fidanzata.'’* Faith, 
' you do not give one much opportunity of seeing you out of 
her company. And I should do as much in your place. What 
an angel of beauty and goodness ! ” 

Giulio was absolutely too much astonished and confounded 
at this address to be able to interrupt the boy. He colored 
up to the roots of his hair, and his heart seemed to stand still 
in his bosom, as he managed to say at last, with a violent 
effort to appear unconcerned while doing so : 

“What are you talking about? What strcwagayize have 
you got into your head, Enrico mio ? I with a Jidanzata ! I ! 
A very likely story indeed ! ” 

“ Bravo ! bravo ! Very well done. Signor Giulio ! ” cried 
the boy, laughing roguishly. “ You think I am a baby, not to 
be trusted. But I have got eyes in my head. Come now, 
trust me ! You know you can ! ” 

“ My dear Enrico,” said Malatesta, who by that time had 

o " Betrothed.” A girl between her betrothal and her naarriage is commonly so 
called. 


182 


YOUNG EYES. 


recovered the possibility of appearing outwardly calm, although 
the boy’s words had stirred up a whole legion of whirling and 
jostling thoughts within him, and his brain was still reeling 
with them, “ has this mad Carnival-time really made you 
crazy? Can you really believe anything so preposterous as 
that there should be aught between me and the Contessina 
Stella Altamari more than the most ordinary acquaintance ? ” 

“ I don’t understand,” said Enrico, almost crossly, “ why 
jmu should be so anxious to mislead me in the matter ; and 
still less, why you should set me down as such an ass as to 
think it possible to deceive me.” 

“ My dear boy, if I had a secret to confide to anybod}’-, I 
know no one whom I would sooner trust it with than yourself. 
But it seems to me that it is rather for me to pout and say, 
What have you ever seen in me that you won’t believe me 
when I tell you the truth ? ” 

“Well! lean tell you this,” continued Enrico, “if you 
don’t know it already : if you don’t care about the Signorina 
Stella, she cares about you ! ” 

“ Cares about 7ne / ” 

“Yes! cares about you/ — cares about you in a way 
that I would give one of my eyes for just such a girl to care 
about me ! And you play the insensible ! For shame, Sig- 
nor Giulio ! ” 

“ But, Enrico mio, what on earth has put such a ridiculous 
notion into your head.” 

“Do you forget, Giulio,” said Enrico, looking steadily into 
his companion’s face, “that I have been present during — let 
me see — three — four visits of Signorina Stella to my mother 
when you were there. Ay ! you never failed to be there ! ” 

“ And was not Brancacci there too ? ” 

“ Oh yes ! Brancacci was there too, just to mark the differ- 
ence in her w^ay to him and her way to you. Do you mean to 
say, now, that you are conscious of no difference in her manner 
to you and her manner to Carlo Brancacci ? ” 

“ Brancacci is an old friend, and I am a new acquaintance,” 
said Malatesta. 

“Cke/ die! che! che! che-e~e-e!’’ scoffed Enrico, with a 
gesture of mocking incredulity, as he prolonged the versatile 
Tuscan expletive into a scornful hoot; “do ladies distinguish 
their new acquaintances from their old friends by stealing 
such looks at them under their eyelids as I have seen the Con- 


YOUNG EYES. 


133 


tessina stealing at you ? Do they always color up when their 
new acquaintances speak a word to them ? How long must 
their acquaintance with a man be, before they are able to touch 
his hand in going down stairs, or getting into a carriage, witli- 
out looking as if it took their breath away, pray ? You think 
I have no eyes ! ” 

“ 1 think,” said Malatesta, speaking with a degree of severi- 
ty that he had not used before, “that you have taken a lot of 
fancies into your boy’s head which ought never to have entered 
it, and which, having entered it, ought never to have been 
spoken — even to me ; and which I should be seriously angry 
if you were ever to speak of to any one else.” 

“ Whj'^, you are not going to be angry with me, Giulio,” 
said poor Enrico, dismayed. “ Surely if you saw nothing of 
all I have said, it ought to be very welcome hearing to you. 
*I’ll answer for it, nine out of ten of the young fellows in Flor- 
ence would give their ears to know as much ! ” 

“ But even if I were among the nine, I don’t know or 
believe any such thing,” returned Malatesta, who was longing 
for Enrico to commit over again the offence he had been scold- 
ing him for. 

“ Come, now ! ” said he, “ the last time you had been here, 
we talked it all over, la mamma and I, when you were gone. 
Lord bless you ! she saw the truth plain enough ! and, what is 
more, she thought it was very clear that you were as much in 
love with lier as she with you ! ” 

“ Will you tell me now, Enrico, without any joking at all, 
what your mother really did say on the subject ? ” asked Mal- 
atesta, gravely. 

“ But I have not been joking at all ! ” expostulated Enrico. 
“She did say just what I have been telling you. And I am 
sure she was not joking. She never jokes, la povera mamma ! 
She said, if you must know exactly, that she never saw two 
young people so thoroughly in love with each other; — that 
that was the way marriages ought to be made ; and that if all 
matches were in such sort, matrimony would turn out better 
than it often did. She said, too, if jmu will have the whole of 
it, that she never saw a handsomer couple, and that you richly 
deserved 3mur good fortune ! So jmu see, Giulio, if I am 
crazjy there are other and older heads than mine equally 
addled J . 

Malatesta remained silent and pondering for a while before 
he spoke again. At last he said : 


134 


YOUNG EYES. 


Well, Enrico, I will prove to you that you were wrong 
when you complained that I would not trust you. I will con- 
fide to you what I have confided to no living soul, and w'ould 
not, I think, confide to any other. Your mother was right 
enough, at least in one-half of what she thought she saw ! 
Ko man, I think, ever loved a woman as I love her ! But it 
never entered into my head to dare to hope that my love was 
returned, or even guessed. I have never told it — and never 
shall ! ’’ 

“ Thank you, Giulio ! thank jmu for trusting me ! ” said 
Enrico, very proud of his position of confidant ; but you will 
have to tell her, or else there will he a couple of broken hearts, 
that’s all ! You may depend on it, women can understand 
one another; and my mother would not have spoken in that 
way if she had not been verj’’ sure of what she was sa^n'ng. 
Would you like to speak to her about it ! You can trust her, 
la povera huona mamma ! ” 

^‘No! I cannot do that! I can hardly bring myself to 
speak to you on the subject. But I will believe at least the 
accuracy of your report of what she said.” 

Indeed you may ! She said all that I have told you. 
And you may depend upon it she is not mistaken.” 

Ah ! if you could tell all that I would give to be able to 
fancy so. Think of me and of what I am 1 Is it likely, En- 
rico mio, that such a girl as Stella Altamari should think of 
me ? ” 

Well ! honestly I should say — very likely. But likelj'' or 
not like!}’’, it is very certain that she does ! ” 

Malatesta continued absorbed in his own meditations for 
several minutes ; and then suddenly jumping up, said : 

“ Addio ! Enrico ! I know I can trust you to be discreet ! 
Addio!” 

But, Giulio ! ” cried Enrico, catching him by the hand as 
he was going, “one more word 1 and forgive me for saying it! 
Bemember how great a wrong you may be doing her by doubt- 
ing too much ! ” 

Malatesta wrung the boy’s hand as he looked with affection 
at him ; saying as he did so : 

“Some woman will love you one day, Enrico ! ” 

And then he went to meditate on what he had heard, during 
a solitary stroll on that winter walk where he had first seen 
Stella, and where, at that hour of the morning, he was pretty 
sure of being alone. 


THE VEGLIONE. 


135 


CHAPTEE VIII. 

THE VEGLIONE. 

Giulio’s meditations during the first part of his solitary 
ramble were not of an unpleasant nature. Despite the per- 
tinacity of his preconceived idea that such a thing must be 
wholly out of the question, despite the misgiving and self- 
depreciating tendencies of his mind, it was impossible for him 
honestly to compare the assertions which had been made to 
him by Enrico, with the long catalogue of priceless events 
treasured up in his memory, without admitting to himself 
^^that there were grounds for the conclusion to which the old 
lady and the young boy had come. 

But even then, what hope ? The hope that Stella was not 
indifferent to him ! Was there any remotest hope that she 
would be permitted by those who had authority over her to 
unite her fortunes with his ? At all events, he must not quit 
Florence without speaking to her. He would, at all events, 
let her know the truth from his own lips. And in the con- 
templation of this task, it was an inexpressible comfort to him 
to think that Brancacci had long ago taken care that Stella 
should not be ignorant of the peculiar social position in which 
he stood. 

He finally determined, therefore, to avow his love before 
leaving Florence. His departure had long since been fixed 
for the first day in Lent, and already the Carnival was waning. 
But the days went by, and no opportunity, which he could 
persuade himself to consider as a sufficiently favorable one, 
offered itself. 

It came to the last Sunday in Carnival ; Giulio had fully 
made up his mind that the words he had to say should be 
whispered during the /e5^a-day’s walk in the Cascine that 
afternoon. But he had forgotten that there was the grand 
full-dress corso for that Sunday, and that the Contessa Zeno- 
bia would no more think of failing to attend it, than she 
would of shutting herself up for the remainder of her days. 

A corso is a peculiarly and essentially Italian amusement. 
It consists in simply driving round the city through a pre- 
scribed line of streets. -As it is arranged that at a certain 


136 


THE VEGLIONE. 


point the carriages turn round and return by the same route, 
there are, of course, two lines of vehicles proceeding in 
opposite directions ; and by this arrangement there is a cliance 
of an opportunity of saluting your acquaintances as they pass 
you. Without tins exciting possibility, the cor so, after some 
hours of it, and many years’ practice of the institution, might 
risk becoming dull. For, of course, the same carriage pre- 
cedes and the same follows yours during the whole perform- 
ance, and it is executed at a solemn foot pace. An English- 
man once, on being asked how he liked the corso, replied that 
we had a very similar practice in England, but that we re- 
served it for the occasion of funerals. 

The corso is, however, in man}’’ respects very essentially 
Italian. Italian love of ostentation, and Italian superiority to 
the shamefacedness of poverty, are both curiously manifested 
in it. The ostentation has a frank avowedness about it which 
is peculiarly Italian. It is ostentation openly acknowledging 
itself and professing to be ostentatious. The state carriage — 
or two of them, if possible — the plated harness, the grand 
liveries for as many servants as can be stuck on the vehicle, 
the handsome pair — or, if possible, two pair — of horses, are 
all brought out for this occasion only. In the carriage sits, 
glorious ill the sight of the whole city, the mistress or the 
master, or both of them, of the establishment to which it be- 
longs. 

The corso on the last days of Carnival has some character- 
istics of its own. Various more or less rough fun goes on, as 
is well knowui, on the two last days of the Carnival ; but this 
is not the case on the Sunday. The corso of that day is 
essentially a full-dressed pageant. Flowers may be tossed 
from carriage to carriage ; and many go provided with huge 
baskets of green-house bouquets for the purpose ; but no rough- 
er pelting takes place. The streets, however, are full of mas- 
quers — almost wholly of the lower classes of people — and many 
of the younger portion of the society prefer to remain on foot 
for the chance of exchanging a salutation, or may be a word, 
or possibly two or three, with the fair occupants of the car- 
riages. 

Nevertheless, it is evident that the corso could offer no op- 
portunity for the conversation Malatesta had determined to 
have with Stella. He and Brancacci were on foot among the 
carriages, and Giulio had the opportunity of putting a little 


THE VEGLIONE. 137 

nosegay of violets into Stella’s hand, and exchanging a little 
squeeze of fingers as he did so, but that was all. 

The all-important question had to be deferred once again to 
some more propitious occasion. 

That evening and the Monday passed without affording 
Giulio the opportunity he was in search of. It seemed as if, 
in order to punish him for having neglected to take advantage 
of the many propitious occasions the past walks had offered, 
these last da3\s would go by without allowing him the smallest 
possibility of repairing the omission. 

But one chance remained, and it was absolutely the last. 

The reader has already been told what a “ veglione ” is. 
Well ! there is always a veglione at the Pergola on the last 
Sunday in Carnival, and also on the last night, that of the 
Tuesday, before Ash-Wednesday, that dies irce of (supposed) 
sackcloth and ashes, when revelry is over and repentance (as 
per programme) begins. There are veglione also at the other 
theatres, but that at the Pergola, which is to Florence what 
the Opera House is to London, is almost exclusively attended 
by the grand monde. 

Of these the gayest and the most fervent observers of Car- 
nival-tide are wont, either on the Sunday or the Tuesday 
night, to have a gay supper in their box, which is amply 
large enough to accommodate some eight or ten guests, besides 
affording space for any chance masquers who may join the 
frolicsome party for a five minutes’ chatter, in that peculiar 
falsetto tone which is adopted as the best mode of concealing 
the voice, and a — sure to be hospitably offered — glass of cham- 
pagne. 

And among the gayest and most inveterate of Carnival- 
keepers, who so gay and so sure to be foremost in all the gay- 
est and “ fastest ” doings as the Contessa Zenobia ! Of course 
there was a supper in the Altamari box at the Pergola. Of 
the two nights, the Tuesday night is, perhaps, the more furi- 
ously frolic festivity of the two, because it finallj^ ends the 
Carnival revel. At twelve o’clock exactly this ending ought 
to take place. But in lax, easy-going Florence custom has 
enacted a law which allows three hours’ grace, and Carnival 
expires in the Pergola at precisely three o’clock on Ash- 
Wednesday morning. At that hour the great central chande- 
lier of the theatre slowly begins to descend from its place in 
mid-air, and the last prank of the revellers is to flip out the 


138 


THE VEGLIONE. 


lights in it, and in other parts of the theatre, with t])eir hand- 
kerchiefs, and then to go forth as best they may into Lenten 
darkness. 

So it was on the Tuesda}^ night that the Contessa Zenobia 
had her supper in her box at the Pergola. 

Of course the Marchese Plorimond was the centre and soul 
of the festival. Of course his nephew was an honored guest, 
and of course his nephew’s inseparable friend was of the merry 
party. 

Custom does not permit ladies of condition on these occasions 
to quit their box, or join the motley multitude of masquers and 
dancers in the area of the theatre, unless under the shelter of. 
the all-covering domino and silken mask. Even thus, it would 
not be “ the thing” for a lady to pass the night in that man- 
ner. But it is permissible to don a domino and mask, and, 
accepting the arm of some trusted cavalier, to make an excur- 
sion from the haven of the box, and take a turn among the 
crowd below, or visit and mystify — if the masquer be frolic- 
somely inclined — the inhabitants of some other box. Many 
Florentine mothers, it is fair to observe, would not permit 
their daughters to do this. Many would not bring them to a 
veglione at all. But the reader knows the Contessa Zenobia 
well enough to be quite sure that in all such matters her theory 
would not err on the side of over-strictness. And it had been 
arranged among the jmung folks, including Zelie upon this 
special occasion in that category, that she and Stella should 
make a with Carlo and Giulio. Plain black silk 

dominoes, with white edging round the hoods, and black silk 
masks similarly edged, had been provided for the two ladies ; 
and the gentlemen had chosen dominoes and masks orna- 
mented in like sort with scarlet. It is always usual on these 
occasions to select some such special mark, that the members 
of a party may be sure of recognizing each other. (Also, it 
is not unusual for some of the members of a party, who have 
adopted bj'’ common agreement this means of being known to 
their friends, to provide a second mask and domino, to be slyly 
exchanged for the first, in order that, le cas echeantj they may 
not be recognized by them.) 

There was no need, however, for any such mystification in 
the instance in question. When the supper was over, while 
the Contessa Zenobia was sitting in the front of her box in- 
• A “turn" of the theatre. 


THE VEGLIONE. 


139 


tensely happy, receiving the burlesqued compliments, and lis- 
tening to the mystifications of half Florence (for everybody 
knew La Zenobia, and everybody laughed at her), and was 
taking all in perfectly good part, and offering champagne to 
all comers, the two ladies and the two gentlemen slipped on 
their disguises in the back of the box, and sallied forth — 
taking due care, of course, that Zelie fell to the share of Bran- 
cacci, and Stella to that of Giulio — an arrangement that was 
very easily secured, as it coincided with the wishes of each one 
of the four. 

Every facility that can be desired for ^‘losing each other,’’ 
is furnished by^ the arrangements of the theatre, and by the 
masked crowd, to parties who may find it convenient to do so. 
And as in this matter, also, the wishes of at least three of the 
party were alike, the two couples very speedily lost each other, 
** with the additional advantage of having the excuse of the 
necessity of finding each other again, ready to account for any 
unduly prolonged absence from the box head-quarters. Nor 
was it difficult to find, amid the crowd and the noise and the 
movement, a spot sufficiently well adapted for the purpose in 
hand. Especially at that late hour of the night, or rather 
earl}’’ hour of the morning, many boxes from which the in- 
mates had departed, and which had been left open by them, 
afforded, in the midst of the hubbub going on on all sides, 
facilities for a the-a-tete as secure from interruption as the 
most embowered nook of moonlit forest could promise. Per- 
haps, too, Malatesta may have felt — possibljq also, his com- 
panion may have agreed wdth him in feeling — that the strange 
costume peculiar to the occasion was not altogether unfavor- 
able to the transaction of the business in hand. The language 
of the eye has an eloquence, it is true, which must certainly 
perish in any attempt to pass through the little oval eye-holes 
of two masks. But, on the other hand, there is a comfort in 
the consciousness of being able to blush unseen ” ad Ubituru. 

So when Malatesta, allowing the other couple to precede 
them, and shortly to be shut off from them by the crowd, so 
as to be ‘‘ lost” secundem artem, drew his companion towards 
a deserted box, and the two absurdly hideous black figures sat 
down side by side in the solitude of the back of it, though the 
hearts of each were beating hard and fast, there was nothing 
to betray their emotion to each other. 

It is nearly over ! ” said Giulio ; ‘‘ a few more quarters of 


140 


THE VEGLIONE. 


the hour, and this wonderful Carnival-time will he gone and 
past away for ever ! ’’ 

‘^Has it been such a wonderful Carnival, Signor Giulio! 
Why wonderful ? 

“ It has been very wonderful to me ! A wonderful dream- 
time ! And now it is over; and in a few minutes all the light 
will be put out — all the light of the Carnival, and of my 
life ! 

“What! because the Carnival is over? You, Signor Giulio, 
of all others I If Carlo Brancacci had said, now, that he 
could only live in Carnival- time 1 ” 

“ Because I shall no more see you — Stella ! ” he replied, 
calling her simply by her name for the first time, and pro- 
nouncing the word strongly and distinctly as he did so. He 
thought he felt a little movement of the hand, which contin- 
ued, as they sat, to rest on his arm, under the shelter of the 
falling hood of the domino. He fancied, but was not sure that 
its pressure was increased by a feather-weight. 

“ I should be very sorry,’’ she answered, placing a decided 
emphasis on the “very” “if I thought so.” 

“ But I,” he returned, speaking very slowly and with a 
solemn sort of distinctness, “ can only wish to see you again, 
Stella, on one condition.” 

Then she was sure that the next word must be the decisive 
one, and knew right well what the one condition must be. 
But she only said, veiy faintly and tremblingly, and feeling 
that, but for the friendly shelter of the mask, she could not 

have answered at all, “ And that condition ? ” 

Is, that we should meet to part no more ! ” 1 

“ I hope that we may meet again ” 

“ On my conditions ? Speak, Stella ; speak clearly, for the 
love of Heaven. Have I been too madly audacious in daring 
to love you ? Would you that we should meet again on the 
terms I have said ? ” 

“ I think I should wish it on any terms, Giulio,” whisper- 
ed Stella. 

And then came the torrent of mutual protestations, mutual 
confessions, mutual vows, like drift-wood-laden waters of a 
mountain stream freed from their frost-bound quiet by a 
sudden thaw. 

And Stella strove to impart her own cheerful view of the 
probabilities of the future to her lover. She had no fear that 


THE VEGLIONE. 


141 


her aunt should make any difficulty, especially when Giulio 
should have won the distinction in the coming campaign 
against the Austrians, which she was quite sure awaited him. 
It was decided between them that he should say nothing, 
except, of course, to good Carlo Brancacci, till that time. 
They would write incessantly, of course. All difficulty about 
letters might be easily got over by the assistance of Signora 
Palmieri. 

And then the great chandelier w^as seen to begin slowly to 
descend. It was like the setting of the sun out of their sky ; 
for it intimated the absolute necessity of hurrying back to the 
Contessa Zenobia’s box, and tearing themselves asunder five 
minutes afterwards with all duly polite speeches and adieux. 

And those horrid black masks tied over their faces ! They 
had been welcome but a few minutes before ; and now Giulio, 
with common human ingratitude, was wishing them at the 
devil. 

They hurried away to the Altamari box, and found Bran- 
cacci faithfully waiting for them at the end of the corridor 
leading to it. He observed that Stella was obliged to hold 
her mask to her face with her hand ; for the string had some- 
how got broken. 

The great chandelier had already descended to the length 
of its tether, and the revellers were already flipping out the 
lights, when the four black figures entered the box together, 
and the whole party prepared to leave the theatre. 

And so ended the Carnival of 1848. 


142 


FRANCESCA VARANI. 


DBOOIS XXX. 

CUETATONE. 


CHAPTEE. I. 

FRANCESCA VARANI. 

The Carnival of the Calendar, — the Carnival of the dancing 
and feasting and revelling was over. But the Political Carni- 
val was to continue yet a little while. The crowned and 
mitred masquers had not yet put off their disguise. The Pope, 
the King of Naples, the Grand-Duke of Tuscanjq were still 
keeping up the jest. And the latter was on the point of send- 
ing off with his blessing a body of volunteers to assist in the 
war waged by the Piedmontese in Lombardy for the driving 
out of the Austrians. ^ 

There is no more memorable and touching chapter of the 
history of that sad period of brilliant illusions and horribly 
bitter disillusions, than that which tells the story of the Tus- 
can volunteer expedition and of their conduct in the campaign. 
For nearly three hundred 3mars the Tuscans had never so 
much as heard the distant sound of battle. So wholl}’- ignor- 
ant of all that war means and involves were the lads tliat went 
forth from Tuscany to contribute their share to the great work 
of Italian deliverance, that their enthusiasm might well have 
been said to equal in value the courage of an unburned child, 
who thrusts his hand into the flames, had not their deeds in 
the field proved the true calibre of their patriotism. 

A considerable number of the small band of civilian volun- 
teers who went to join the army in Lombardy in the spring of 
1848, were students of the university of Pisa, who went cap- 
tained in some instances, and in others accompanied shoulder 
to shoulder in the rank and file by several of their professors. 
At the end of the Carnival the expedition was being rapidly 
and hurriedly organised; and Giulio’s first care on his return 
from Florence was to ascertain the arrangements and plans of 
his friends, and to combine his own with them. It had been 
originally the intention of the two friends — Malatesta and 


FRANCESCA VARANI. 


143 


Brancacci — to return together to Pisa at the end of the Car- 
nival. But the latter, to his great disgust, had been retained 
at Florence by his uncle, for the express purpose, no doubt, of 
preventing him from taldng any part in the expedition which 
was being projected. 

Giulio had therefore returned to Pisa alone with the boy 
Enrico Palmieri, leaving his friend at Florence. It was but a 
few hours’ journey at that time from Florence to Pisa ; but it 
was late before Malatesta arrived. So, as soon as he had de- 
posited his baggage in his little garret chamber in the neigh- 
borhood of the cathedral, and had snatched a hurried mouth- 
ful of food he sallied forth to pay a visit that same evening. 

He had a long walk before him ; for the house for which 
he was bound was at the other end of the town, and Pisa is a 
very wide-spread city. Many of the ancient towns of Italy 
give a stranger visiting them the idea of having become a 
** world too wide for their shrunken population. But there is, 
perhaps, no one in the whole peninsula which does so more 
forcibly than Pisa. 

The feeble vitality of Pisa is centred, especially after dark, 
in the heart of it, about the central one of the three bridges 
over the Arno, and the “ Lung’ Arno,” in its immediate vicin- 
ity. In the remote quarters of the town the solitude and 
silence at the hour when Malatesta had to traverse it, is such 
as Ipruly to give the passenger the idea that he is walking 
through a city of the dead. 

His errand led him to one of the most solitary and sparsely 
inhabited quarters of the vast space included within the walls. 

The four world-famous monuments of the old Pisan power 
and w^ealth, the Cathedral, the Campo Santo, the Baptistry, 
and the Campanile, stand matchlessly grouped together in a 
spacious meadow, surrounded on three sides by the grey city 
walls. Certainly no other similar space of earth’s surface 
contains an}^ comparably interesting assemblage of the mani- 
festations of mediaeval art and grandeur. 

From the south-western corner of this storied meadow a road 
runs in a southward direction by the side of the town wall, 
leading to tlfat part of the citj’' in the neighborhood of the 
lowest of the three bridges over the Arno, and the huge quaint 
pile of the (then) Grand-Ducal stables. This track, for it is 
scarcely more, passes between the wall and a succession of 
fields and gardens, once thickly inhabited by the thousands 


144 


FRANCESCA VARANI. 


who manned the fleets that made Pisa a formidable power in 
Europe. Very little frequented by day, it is at night as 
deserted and lonely as the mountain-tops, which may be seen 
from it, glistening in the moonlight, on the further side of the 
sleeping city. At a considerable distance from its starting- 
point at the corner of the meadow, there are two or three 
isolated and very lonely dwellings, small but not uncomforta- 
ble houses, the tristesse and distance of which from the centre 
of the city, and all the feebly-pulsing life of it, is compens.ated 
by the proportionately small rent. 

It was to one of these houses that Giulio Malatesta was 
bound on the evening of his arrival at Pisa. The distant 
clock of the Palazzo puhblico was striking the half-hour 
between nine and ten as, crossing a garden, he reached the 
door, and, in the absence of a bell, made the massive old- 
fashioned ring which hung from the middle of it serve as well 
as it might the purpose of a knocker. It was some little time 
before a female head, partially opening one of the closed jal- 
ousies of a second-floor window, cautiously and suspiciously 
demanded, “ Chi e ? ” * Eor unsettled times ” in the politi- 
cal world had produced their usual effect of insecurity in the 
social world. Bodies of strange troops, Neapolitans, and 
Eoman refugees, rough-looking fellows at the best, foreigners 
in Tuscany in every sense of the word, and many of them 
half savages to the gentle Tuscan mind, had passed through 
Pisa; and suspicious characters, bringing with them little 
worse, perhaps, than the normal habits of their own districts, 
but terrible and shocking to quiet and peaceable Tuscan ways 
and ideas, were known to be about. 

So the door of the lone house was carefully bolted, and the 
maid-servant went to an upper window, as far off as might be 
from the applicant for admission, to reconnoitre before open- 
ing it. 

But Giulio’s answer — Amici / So7i’ io,f Beppa ! I have 
just arrived from Florence!’’ — was immediately responded to 
by — “ Oh ! Signor Giulio 1 Is it you ? I’ll come down and 
open the door directly.” And in a minute, after a considera- 
ble rattling of bolts and bars, the door was opened, and a mid- 
dle-aged servant presented herself. 

“ Signor Giulio,” she cried ; since those ugly animals of 
Neapolitans have been here, it’s wise to keep the door barred 1 

e » Who is,” Bubandi, there ? f ” J’riends ! It is I, Beppa.” 


FRANCESCA VARAN!. 


145 


What faces ! But they say they are all patriots. Perhaps 
so ! I don’t say no ; but I bolt the door. Come in, come in. 
The Signor Professore is not at home, but the Signorina will 
be delighted to see you ! ” 

Is Signor Binaldo within ? His brother Enrico ought to 
have been here more than an hour ago. He came with me 
from Florence.” 

“ II Signor Enrico arrived soon after eight. He has gone 
out with his brother and the Professor. But come in and 
speak to Signorina Francesca, Signor Giulio.” 

So saying, she led the way to a room on the ground floor at 
the back of the house, and, throwing open the door, cried, 

Ucco il Signor Giulio, Signorina ! ” 

It was a good-sized room, larger and loftier, and wuth more 
^of decorative pretension than a house of similar class would 
have possessed in England ; but withal it would have im- 
pressed an English ej'^e with the idea of verj^ great discomfort. 
There was not only no fire, but no fireplace in the room ; there 
was no carpet, and the bare bricks of the floor were covered 
only over a small space in the neighborhood of the window by 
a piece of matting. There was a good-sized, substantial 
square table in the middle of the room, on one-half of which 
a cloth was laid with the preparations for the supper of four 
persons, while the other half was fully occupied by a quanti- 
ty of coarse brown linen, and by a variety of paper patterns, 
by the aid of which that material was in the process of being 
shaped into garments. Four rush-bottomed chairs, so con- 
structed as to make it appear as if the utmost ingenuity had 
been exercised with a view to render it impossible for the 
human bodj'- to assume any position of ease when using them, 
were placed around the table, and four others were ranged 
against the wall, which was stencilled with a design exhibit- 
ing a combination of the colors green, red, and white. There 
was no other article of furniture in the room, unless two plas- 
ter busts of the Pope and the Grand-Duke, placed on brackets 
affixed to the wall opposite the door, might be considered as 
such. There was no ceiling, and instead of it the uncovered 
rafters of the floor above were visible ; but an attempt had 
been made to render these ornamental rather than the reverse 
by roughly painting them. 

The Signorina Francesca, of whom the maid had spoken, 
was alone in a large and cheerless room, striving apparently 
9 


146 


FARNCESCA VARANI. 


to combine the two occupations of cutting out clothing and 
reading a newspaper, and not succeeding in either as well as 
she might have done if she had taken them singly. Both 
were, however, precipitately abandoned by her on hearing the 
announcement of the servant. The Signorina Francesca, who 
started forwards, offering both hands in token of welcome to 
the new comer, was a girl of some twenty or one-and-twenty 
years, with far more than sufficient attractions to make such 
an invitation to a tete-a-tUe visit as Giulio had received no 
lightly-prized privilege to most men of Giulio’s years. He, 
we know, was now fully armed against the assaults of any 
temptations of the kind. But there was a style of frank 
camaraderie in the manner of both of them, as they met, 
which indicated plainly enough that even before Malatesta’s 
visit to Florence, and therefore before he had donned the 
armor of proof which now protected his heart, there had never 
been anything of the nature of flirtation or love-making in 
their intercourse. 

Malatesta bad yielded his heart at discretion at the very 
first glance of Stella Altamari^s ejms ; and he had passed two 
years in very frequent, almost daily, intercourse with Fran- 
cesca Varani, without ever dreaming of falling in love with 
her. Other men might have done just the reverse. There 
could not have been a greater contrast between two girls, both 
of them beautiful, than between the dainty, fairy-like patrician 
Contessa, the hands, feet, and sinews of whose forefathers for 
a dozen generations had never known labor, and the vigorous 
daughter of the people, the perfection of whose physical de- 
velopment showed her to be the product of a race in the men 
and women of which the beneficence of the primal law, called 
by us in our presumptuous folly the primeval curse, had not 
been made really such by any excess of toil or privation. 

Francesca Varani, was a ver}’- perfect specimen of perhaps 
the finest and handsomest of all the different races that inhabit 
the peninsula. She was not a Venus, according to the ideas 
of the perfection of female beauty which we moderns have 
formed to ourselves from the refined and slender charms of a 
high-bred and somewhat hothouse-bred loveliness, which ap- 
peals not only and wholly to the outward eye. She was not a 
Juno. The somewhat heavy majesty and the matronly forms 
which are needed for the completion of the conception, were 
not there. She might have been a Hebe, if the perfection of 


FRANCESCA VARANI. 


147 


the presentation of physical youthfulness had not been tem- 
pered in her by a certain earnest and purpose-like bearing 
and tone of manner — gravity or seriousness would be too 
strong expressions — which did not answer to the notion of 
completely Plebe-like thoughtlessness. 

The face was certainly a strikingly handsome one. It was 
large ; but not more so than the height of her person de- 
manded that it should be. It would never have entered into 
the head of anybody’- to call it heavy ; but a little addition 
of flesh might have made it seem so. The hair was black, or 
very dark, fine, glossy, and extraordinarily abundant. The 
brow of the purest white, not lofty, but broad and square at 
the temples; the nose not slender but well formed, and the 
nostrils singularly mobile; the eye very large, dark brown in 
color, remarkably well opened, and to a striking degree ex- 
pressive of frankness and fearless candor ; the rich contour of 
the cheeks brilliant with color, not too strong to be called fair- 
ly roesate, not too full to be becomingly increased by a blush ; 
the line of the jaw-bone well defined, strongly marked; the 
ear delicately small ; the mouth somewhat large, eloquent with 
constantly varying. expression, capable of a whole tempest of 
scorn and indignation, but equally so of infinite sweetness and 
tenderness ; the column of the neck strong, large, round, and 
exquisitely white ; the hand not small, but well made, long in 
the finger, and formed with that perfection of finish that sug- 
gests abundant capability of dexterous and adroit action ; the 
bust magnificent ; the waist not speciall}" slender, but round, 
lithe, and elastic. Not a Venus, I have said ! Not the Venus, 
that is, of a ball-room, of Hyde Park, or of the Bois de Bou- 
logne, or perhaps of a poet’s dream ! But I am inclined to 
think that Adam, if he had been duly instructed in heathen 
mythology, might have called her so. 

‘‘Welcome back to Pisa, Signor Giulio ! ” she cried, as, 
leaving her twofold occupation at the table, she came forward 
with both hands extended to meet him. “ When Enrico came 
home, I knew we should see you to-night. My brother was 
obliged to go out ; he is at a little meeting of our friends ; but 
he will be home directly.” 

“ I thought -it likely he might be out ; but I could not rest 
to-night without seeing him. Though I have very little 
doubt that you can tell me all that he could, Signorina Fran- 
cesca. Busy for the good work, I see ! ” he added, with a 
smile, nodding towards the encumbered table. 


148 


FARNCESCA VARANI. 


Ay ! such work as it is ! ” said Francesca, with a depre- 
ciatory shrug and grimace. “ But I should have thought,’^ 
she added, that you would have something to tell us.” 

“ I am ashamed to say I have not ! I was not much among 
the right set; I have been doing nothing but Carnival-keeping 
there at Florence.” 

‘‘ And you have not come a day too soon I Kinaldo and my 
brother have been working hard ; and all is pretty well ready. 
They both knew, fortunately, that as far as this sacred war 
goes, you are heart and hand with us ” 

“ Altro ! ” ejaculated Giulio. 

— though you do think, as the Professor says, that figs 
may be made to grow on thistles afterwards.” 

Tlie thistle, as you call it, is the tallest plant in our gar- 
den ! ” rejoined Giulio. “But there!” he added, checking 
himself, “ we won’t have one of our battles royal to-night, 
Signorina Francesca; there is so much to be said of what we 
all agree on. Has any day been named yet for the start ? ” 

“ They talk of the 23rd.” 

“ What, of this March ? So soon ! ” 

Francesca nodded three or four times with a bright smile, 
adding, “ And not a day too soon, let me tell you, Signor 
Giulio. We others, who don’t go Carnival-keeping, have our 
eyes open to other things. And we shall be read}’- too I ” 

“ 1 shall I that I can promise you, with all my Carnival- 
keeping, Signorina Francesca ! ” said Giulio. 

“ Bravo ! Signor Giulio ! But don’t suppose I ever doubted 
it ! And now there is a matter about wliich I want to speak 
to you ; and we can take this opportunity before the Professor 
comes home.” 

“ What ! a secret from him ?” cried Giulio, in surprise. 

“ Well ! yes, and no 1 a secret at this moment, but one 
which I do not intend to keep much longer. In two words, 
this is it. I intend,” said Francesca, speaking ver}’- deliber- 
ately, and looking him steadily in the face the while, “ to ac- 
company the volunteers to the war ! ” 

“ Francesca I ” 

“And as it can’t do any harm to ask advice about a thing 
when one’s mind is quite made up, I want to consult with you 
about it.” 

“ And your brother, the Professor ? ” asked Giulio. 

“ There is no doubt at all about his going ! You might as 


FRANCESCA VARANI. 


149 


well try to move the Campanile as alter liis mind on that point. 
And, to say the truth,” continued Francesca, “ I should be 
sorry that he should do otherwise. He is, as he says, as good 
to pull a trigger and give a life as any one of us. And what 
can we any of us do more ? ” 

“ And yet I cannot help thinking ” 

As the others have thought, that he is hardl}^ fit for 
such a business. When every man’s hand, and head, and eye, 
and tongue has need to be ready to take care of himself in a 
hundred ways, what chance has a man whose head, hand, 
tongue and eye were never ready for anything ? It is not 
when it comes to the fighting ! Pietro will do that, I am sure, 
as well as another ! But it is all the rest of the time. And 
so the long and the short of it is, that I have determined to 
go with him.” 

“ But will it not be impossible for a lady to ” 

You don’t think I should dream of going in a woman’s 
dress ! Che ! that would never do, indeed ! JSTo ! I shall go 
as one of the volunteers, in the dress of one, and take m}’’ part 
in ail that has to be done. I, too, as Pietro says, can pull a 
trigger, or give a life.” 

“ But if it is known — that ” 

“ It will be known to nobody but Pietro and yourself, and 
Kinaldo and Enrico — not a soul else. Except my mother, that 
is to say. I have written to her of my plan ; and have had 
an answer from her two days ago. She says, shortly, that 
Pietro would never again be a son to her, if he did not go ; 
that it will be a delight to her to know that she has given two 
children instead of one only to the cause ; that I may be very 
sure that I shall not be the only one of Italy’s daughters in 
the ranks ; and wishes only that she had a dozen other such 
children to give to her country. There is a patriot, if you will ! 
I am proud of my mother, Signor Giulio.” 

I am sure you have reason to be so. But what is it you 
want me to do ? ” 

“Only to speak to Pietro ! The only difficulty in the way 
is with him. I know that he will make all sorts of objections. 
And you have so much influence with him ! He has such a 
higli opinion of 3mur judgment. Signor Giulio ! ” 

“ And what says Signor Palmieri to your scheme ? ” asked 
Giulio, looking shrewdly into her eyes. 

“What, Signor Einaldo? I have told him necessarily. 


150 


FRANCESCA VARANI. 


But I should not think of asking his advice in the matter/^ 
said Francesca, with a little toss of her head, and a slight shade 
of embarrassment in her manner, which had not been observ- 
able previously. “Of course,’’ she added, “ he is all. against 
it ! ” 

“ But if, as I confess it seems to me, Palmieri and I between 
us could manage to take very good care of our Professor, do 
you not think ” 

“ But though that is my principal reason for being deter- 
mined to go, it is not my only one, Signor Giulio. I, too, 
have a spice of my mother’s feeling in the matter ! I burn to 
contribute my mite of assistance also to the cause. And then, 

besides in short, I am quite determined to go, whether 

Pietro will consent or not ; but I would very much rather that 
he did so.” 

“ And then besides as you were saying, Signorina ! 

What is the besides ? What other motive have you for your 
determination ? ” 

“Well!” answered Francesca, very palpably coloring up, 
but with a forced determination to speak openly, and a strong 
effort to do so without any apparent embarrassment, “ there 
are others besides my brother who will need looking after, and 
who are as unfit for roughing it as he. Look at that child 
Enrico! Is he not fitter to be at his mother’s apron-string 
than campaigning in Lombardy ?” 

“ But is it quite decided that he is to go ? ” 

“ He would break his heart if left behind ! Hor does his 
brother wish to leave him. But you know. Signor Giulio, 
what a delicate child it is. His strength is not equal to his 
spirit.” 

“ And so, Signorina, you are to go as mother to Enrico as 
well as sister to the Professor, besides carrying a musket on 
your own behalf? ” 

“Don’t you think that Enrico needs a mother’s looking 
after him, poor child ? ” answered Francesca, with some con- 
fusion of manner. “ Come, Signor Giulio, I made sure of' 
having your support ! ” 

“ But do you not think, Signorina Francesca, that your 
brother is more likely to pay attention to what Signor Binaldo 
ma}’- think of the matter than of m}^ opinion ?” 

“No! Certainly not! Quite the reverse! Besides, I 
don’t care what Signor Binaldo thinks about it- I don’t want 
to speak any more to him on the subject.” 


THE professor’s SUPPER-TABLE. 151 

As Francesca spoke these words, a knock at the door was 
heard. 

“ There they are ! said she,' jumping up ; how glad Pietro 
will be to see you ! Eemember, Signor Giulio, I count on you 
to back my arguments in favor of my plan ! ” 

As she spoke, the Professor, accompanied by Enrico Pal- 
mier! and his elder brother, Einaldo, entered the room. 


CHAPTEE 11. 

THE professor’s SUPPER-TABLE. 

I 

r 

The reader, perhaps, can hardly be expected to remember 
Francesca Varani ; though, in point of fact, she was presented 
to him once on a time, twenty years ago, at Bologna. It may 
be hoped, however, he will not fail to recognise an old ac- 
quaintance in the Professor of Materia Medica in the Uni- 
versity of Pisa, wlio now entered the room, accompanied by 
the two Palmier! brothers, who lodged in his house. 

Pietro Varani was one of those men in whom the years 
from twenty to forty of their age make less marked change 
than is the case with most of us. The outward circumstances 
of his career had been very fortunate. His real and recog- 
nised scientific acquirements, assisted by the political liberal- 
ism in fashion in high places just then in Tuscanj", liad placed 
him in one of the very few positions in the world for which 
he was fitted. The modest emoluments of the Chair of 
Materia Medica barely sufficed, it is true, to keep his body 
and soul, as the phrase is, and that of his sister Francesca, 
together. But that “ barely ” was all that he needed. Some 
assistance towards the small sum required for his rent was 
furnished by the arrangement which made the Palmier! lads 
lodgers in his house. And what with that simplest and most 
effective scheme of economy, which consists in going without 
whatever there was no coin in the purse to pay for, and what 
with Francesca’s active good management, both ends were, 
somehow or other, made to meet ; the wolf was, though never 
driven away to any great distance, yet kept from the door, and 


152 


THE PROFESSOE’s SXJPPER-TABLE. 


the Professor had leisure and opportunity for the pursuit of 
his favorite studies. 

Such men as Pietro Varani do better in the world at forty 
than they do at twenty. Their contemporaries at the 
younger age flout them ; by the time they have all journeyed 
on together to the fortieth milestone, they appreciate and 
value them at their real worth. Youth is naturally intoler- 
ant. It is especially intolerant of deficiency in those qualities, 
graces, and advantages, which are its own special inheritance. 
And in this respect, as we know, poor Pietro had been disin- 
herited. It cannot be said that the Professor was less un- 
toward in his person, less awkward in his manners, less 
absent in his mind, than the student had been twenty years 
ago. But the eccentricities and inelegances which in those 
Bologna days had made him a butt for scoff and jeering, 
seemed now to have become a title to the indulgence and re- 
gard of society. The women, you see, have so much to do 
with it. And they can be so kind, so petting, such guardian 
angels to such men as Pietro Varani, when once they are quite 
sure that they don’t want to make love to them, that there is 
no question and no possibility of the suspicion that there 
should be any question of love-making in the matter. There 
was not a pretty girl among all Francesca’s acquaintances 
who did not speak of her brother as “ that dear, good man, 
the Professor,” and who would not have deemed it a privilege 
to come and work all night to help Francesca to make him a 
set of shirts. 

In fact, the Professor was, by that time, very far from being 
an unhapp}’’ or discontented man. He was, and, in a modest 
way, knew himself to be universally esteemed. In the world 
of politics, which in those days made so large a portion of the 
lives of all the best Italians, his name and reputation stood high. 
There was not a leading man among the liberal party through- 
out Central Italy who did not know that Professor Varani at 
Pisa was a man whose heart was in the cause, and who might 
be safely counted upon and trusted in any emergency. He had 
been active in creating, fostering, and developing those opin- 
ions and sentiments among the young men at Pisa which were 
now about to manifest themselves in action ; and he had 
labored among the foremost in organising the Corpo JJniver- 
sitario which was now about to form a very considerable por- 
tion of the volunteer force about to proceed to the seat of war 


THE professor’s SUPPER-TABLE. 153 

in Lombard3^ Most of his more immediate friends had 
thouglit that he was not the sort of man best fitted for work in 
the held. But Francesca knew well that nothing on earth 
short of absolute impossibility could prevent his doing so. 
The strong feeling that he would need somebody to look after 
him and take care of him, and that it would be intolerable to 
her to be separated from him under such circumstances, had, 
as Francesca truly said, been the hrst determining motive of 
her wish to join the volunteer corps. 

That motive was not unsupported by more than one other. 
A very strong enthusiasm for the cause,, which was now the 
cause of all the world, but which had been, under her mother’s 
training, the good cause with her as long as she could remem- 
ber anything, was one motive. She longed to do, and to see 
what was done by others. She wanted to give something, to 
suffer something for ltal3^ There were many others in those 
days who would have given much to be permitted to do what 
Francesca was so eager to do; and there were several who 
really did it. 

It cannot be denied, however, that there was yet a third mo- 
tive, which, perhaps, might have been found more powerfully 
operative than either of the other two, if we could have looked 
quite to the bottom of that heart, which, frank and honest as it 
was, did not tell quite all its secrets, perhaps not entirely even 
to its own mistress. Partially it told her ; and she made no 
secret of the information. Enrico needed, she said, the care of 
a mother. Francesca was anxious to supply the place of one 
to him. Nevertheless, it was impossible not to observe that, 
in this maternal and filial relationship between Francesca and 
Enrico, there was not all that easy frankness, and absence of 
all reticence, which usually characterises the intercourse of 
mother and son. Enrico was fifteen ; but then, as Francesca 
very often said, he was such a mere child of his age. Fran- 
cesca was only twenty ; but then, as she also remarked, she 
was so old for her years. Experience, and care, and housekeep- 
ing, had made her so, she declared. Enrico, who had a mother, 
whom he tenderly loved, at Florence, by no means recognised 
any other as filling her place in any degree or sort. He did 
not make the smallest pretence of being animated by any filial 
feeling towards Francesca ; and could hardly be considered to 
have shown himself worthy of her maternal interest. For he 
never seemed wholly at his ease in her presence, and rarely, if 


154 


THE professor’s SUPPER-TABLE. 


ever, mentioned her v^hen she was absent. Specially he 
seemed unwilling to talk about La Francesca to his brother; 
who, on his part, was never tired of the subject. 

It was no secret among the members of the little society in 
which they lived, that Kinaldo Palmieri was in love with Fran- 
cesca Varani, the Professor’s young sister and housekeeper. 

Kinaldo Palmieri was some five years older than his brother 
Enrico, and differed so entirely from him, not only in outward 
appearance but in temperament and mental constitution, that 
it was difficult to suppose that they were, as they unquestion- 
ably were, the sons of the same father and mother. Kinaldo 
was as stalwart a fellow as Enrico was delicate and fragile. 
He was dark of hair, of complexion, of brow ; and Enrico was 
fair. He w’as strong, decided, and imperious in his political 
feelings, as in all else ; whereas Enrico was modest, diffident, 
and inclined to hang on the judgment of others. He was a 
very substantive man ; Enrico had more of the nature of the 
adjective. Kinaldo, however, notwithstanding the difference 
of his nature from that of his brother, or perhaps rather the 
more because of it, was exceedinglj^ attached to Enrico ; and 
— to admit the whole truth, and tell the whole state of the case 
in a word — the fact that the attachment between the brothers 
did not suffer diminution from the very evident affection of 
Francesca for Enrico, joined to her somewhat overdone mani- 
festation of indifference to Kinaldo, was an amply sufficient 
proof that the elder brother was a very generous and noble- 
hearted fellow. 

Kinaldo and Enrico Palmieri were living, as has been stated, 
in the house of Professor Varani ; and it was due to the acci- 
dent in the forest of the Cascine that Malatesta had become 
acquainted with the Professor and his family. That circum- 
stances had happened more than a year ago ; and an intimacy, 
resulting merely from reciprocal liking, had grown up between 
tliem, and had subsisted for several months, before either Va- 
rani or Malatesta discovered the circumstances of connection 
between their two histories. It should rather be said, how- 
ever, before Varani discovered it ; for it was impossible that 
Malatesta should do so. He had never been allowed to become 
acquainted with his mother’s name. Very shortly after his 
birth— a few weeks onlj^— the unhappy Maddalena had been 
removed from Kome, where she had been confined, and cared 
for in her confinement by Dr. Lorenzo Bonacci, the Cardinal 


THE professor’s SUPPER-TABLE. 


155 


Malatesta’s agent, and taken to the convent of the Ursulines 
at Ascoli, where slie had subsequently been induced to take the 
veil. Her child, Giulio Malatesta, had from that time been 
brought up and educated on means supplied by the Marchese 
Salvadore Malatesta, his grandfather, as long as the latter lived, 
and after his death by the Marchese Cesare Malatesta, his 
father. These means had, however, been administered, in the 
first instance, by Hr. Bonacci, and when he also died, by the 
person who succeeded him in his attorney’s office at Borne ; 
and Giulio, though permitted to know that his father was the 
Marchese Cesare Malatesta, and that he was acknowledged by 
him as his illegitimate son, had never been allowed to have any 
communication with his father, and had been always given to 
understand that any attempt on his part to do so, would entail 
the withdrawal of the means allowed for his support. There 
was, therefore, nothing whatever to indicate to Malatesta that 
any person bearing the name of Varani had ever exercised any 
influence over, or been connected with, the fortunes of him or 
his in any way. 

Varani himself, on the other hand, had heard nothing of the 
hapless Maddalena Tacca, whom he had so worshipped, and so 
unwittingly contributed to destroy, from the date of the last 
letter she had wTitten home from Belfiore. To the letter he 
had written in return, the result of which has been seen in that 
sad letter from her to Cesare Malatesta at Fermo, which has 
been laid before the reader, no answer had come. From that 
day forward — nothing. It had been ascertained that she had 
been removed from Belfiore, not against her own consent, b}^ a 
Hr. Lorenzo Bonacci of Borne, easily found to be the agent and 
man of business of the Cardinal Malatesta. So much consider- 
ation for her friends had been shown, as to vouchsafe to their 
inquiries the answer that she had, by her own desire, been 
placed in a convent, in which it was her purpose to take the 
veil. Beyond this, no reply ! And even if this information 
had been withheld, it may be readiljmmagined that Maddalena 
Tacca’s ‘Hriends” — one lone old woman, very ignorant and, 
very poor, and one young student, almost equally poor, and al- 
most equally ignorant of the world and its ways, and laboring 
under the additional disadvantage of holding a marked place 
in the black books of the police, that is to say — for this com- 
pletes the entire catalogue of Maddalena Tacca’s “ friends,” — 
these friends, it may be readily imagined, were not likely to be 


156 


THE professor’s SUPPER-TABLE. 


able to obtain any further information, which it was the pur- 
pose of a Cardinal of Holy Mother Church to refuse. 

Old Marta Tacca had died in 1835, about six years after the 
loss of her daughter, not killed by violent heartbreak, but 
quietly grumbling herself to death, firm in the persuasion, 
which she had reached by a process peculiar to minds of her 
special stamp of selfislmess, that her daughter, and Varani, 
and indeed all the rest of the small world known to her, had 
conspired to bring her grey hairs with sorrow to the grave. 

The brief history of Maddalena, ending in so entire and so 
painful a blank, had remained a deep-seated and ever unhealed 
wound in Pietro Yaranfis heart. Many and many a sad and 
solitary hour had he spent in going over and over again all the 
circumstances of the story, and taking to himself a far greater 
degree of blame than any other judge would have awarded him, 
for his negligence in not having more accurately informed him- 
self of the requirements of the law in the matter. It had 
never occurred to him for an instant to suspect that Cesare 
Malatesta had been conscious of the flaw which vitiated the 
marriage. To one letter, which he had written to him at Fer- 
mo, he had received an answer, after a considerable delay, 
deeply bewailing the misfortune which had happened ; griev- 
ing over the necessity in which he was of submitting to the 
will of his family ; protesting utter ignorance of the present 
position of Maddalena, but affirming his conviction that the 
information given him by his uncle of her wish to take the veil 
was true ; and ending by expressing his opinion that under 
all the unhappy circumstances of the case, perhaps, no solu- 
tion more satisfactory on the whole could be found. 

Of course the name of Malatesta had remained as a deeply 
graven reminiscence of misery and misfortune in the mind of 
Yarani. Especially in the absence of any knowledge that a 
child had been born to Maddalena Tacca, there was nothing in 
the mere fact of the existence of a young man bearing that 
name in the University of Pisa, as a student from Pome, to 
arrest his attention, or to lead him to guess that there was any 
connection between him and the events which still often caused 
him an hour of sad and painful reminiscence. 

But when the accident in the Cascine had made Giulio 
Malatesta acquainted with the inmates of the solitary house 
among the gardens near the city wall of Pisa, and when he had 
gradually — very gradually, for he was a reserved man, and did 


THE professor’s SUPPER-TABLE. 


15T 


not make friends quickly — become intimate with the Professor 
and his sister, and the two young men who boarded with them, 
and liad, as the intimacy ripened into friendship, been led to 
speak of himself, his position and prospects, the truth was soon 
discovered, to the astonishment equally of the Professor and 
of the young man himself, and to a certain degree to the satis- 
faction of both of them. 

If Varani, on his side, was impressed by the consideration, 
that the existence and unfortunate position of this young man 
continued and enlarged the consequences of the misfortune to 
which he had contributed, yet it was a consolation and a gra- 
tification to him to know, to be kind to, and to love Maddalena’s 
son. Althougli it was quite certain, that as far as any active 
service, assistance, or patronage went, the younger man was 
more competent to be of use to the elder than the reverse, yet 
it was a comfort and an advantage to the reserved and solitary 
student to have the modest home of the Professor and its little 
social circle open to him. 

Oil the other hand, to Giulio himself it was much to have 
discovered the name and condition of his mother, and the 
nature of the circumstances which had led to his birth. Of 
course there was a gap of time, from the date of the last in- 
formation Varani had been able to obtain of Maddalena’s de- 
parture from Belfiore, to that of Giulio’s earliest recollections, 
which no comparison or combination of the information pos- 
sessed by either of them could fill up. All that remained a 
blank. To Giulio, however, it seemed as if the clue, which he 
had at length so accidentally and unexpectedly obtained, was 
almost all that was needed for success in ultimately discovering 
his mother ; and his rejoicing over the chance which had afford- 
ed it to him, was proportionably great. 

/The Professor seemed in high spirits as he entered the room, 
and came forward with both hands extended to meet Mala- 
testa. 

Welcome back to Pisa, figlio mio ! We have wanted you ; 
but we have done without you ! We have worked hard ; and 
all goes well.” 

Francesca tells me that we shall be off on the 23rd ! ” 

‘^We hope so!” said Pinaldo, who had already exchanged 
a friendly hand-grip — “ we hope so I There are still matters 
to be arranged. I think they have been less active at Flor- 
ence than we have here.” 


158 THE professor’s supper-table. 

Don’t you think I have brought you back Enrico looking 
very well?” said Giulio. “We have frequently seen each 
other during the Carnival.” 

“ Notwithstanding Signor Giulio was living quite in the 
grand monde,^^ put in Enrico, “ he used to come very often to 
see me, all from anxiety to know how I was,” he added, with 
a sly glance at Malatesta, who replied by a look enjoining dis- 
cretion. 

“ So you go with us to Lombardy, Signor Pxofessore ? ” said 
he, turning to Varan i. 

“I should think so!” replied the Professor, coloring up; 
“ what would you think of me if I did not ? ” 

“ Yet many friends have dissuaded him from doing so,” said 
Francesca. 

“ Both you and the Professor, Signorina, will do me the jus- 
tice to admit that I was never among them I ” said Rinaldo. 

“ Enrico goes too, he tells me 1 ” said Giulio. 

“ Altro ! I think I see myself being left at home I ” 

“ Yes ! Enrico goes with us ! ” said Pinaldo, more gravely. 
“ Italy can spare none of her sons I ” 

“ Is he not too young, and less able than willing for the 
work ? ” said Giulio. 

“ Less able than willing, certainly ! ” replied his brother ; 
“ and too young to fill the place of an older man ; but not too 
young to fill his own place; — and that is in the front rank, 
and where the Austrian balls fly thickest ! ” 

“Thanks! brother, thanks ! ” cried the boy, while the rich 
blood rushed under the delicate and transparent skin of his fair 
boyish face all over his forehead, and among the roots of his 
curly chestnut hair. “ If there were twenty of us we would be 
all there ! ” 

Francesca looked at the boy with a feeling strangely made 
up of admiration and compassionate tenderness, and her eyes 
became a little dim as she said, in answer to his “ there : ” 

“ Where would you all be, if there were twenty of you, En- 
rico mio ? ” 

“Oh! Signora Francesca, you know well where it would 
become my father’s sons to be when a blow was to be struck 
against the oppressors. Would you have me elsewhere than 
in the van of the fight ? ” 

“ Nay, but, Eurico mio, the fight is but a small part, and 
not the worst part, perhaps, of what the volunteer will have to 


THE professor’s SUPPER-TABLE. 


159 


bear ! Extreme fatigue, privation of all kinds, exposure to the 
weather, want of shelter ; — these are the most trying parts of 
a campaign. And something besides high courage, Enrico 
mioy is needed to undergo them ! 

I know what all that means. Signora Francesca ! ” said 
the boy, not over-graciously ; ‘‘that means, that I ought to 
have a nurse with me to take care of me. I know how grate- 
ful I ought to be to one who is willing to be nurse for me, and 
indeed, indeed I am very grateful to you for all your kindness 
and all your care for me. But believe me, cam Francesca, you 
are wrong in this ! 

“ I do think that I might be of service to you, Enrico, as 
well as to others,” said Francesca, evidently hurt by his anxi- 
ety to set aside her determination to accompany them ; “but 
men are never willing to admit that they need a woman’s 
help till the time comes when they feel the want of it ! It is 
not for you only. Signor, whatever you may suppose,” she 
added, bantering him, “ that I have decided on this ! My 
proper place will be with you all, for many reasons.” 

“ My opinion is that men should do men’s work, and should 
suffice for the doing it,” said Rinaldo, sententiously. “ Per 
Dio / ” he exclaimed, jumping from his seat, and striding 
across the room, “ with what heart could a man go into action 

if he knew that the ball that missed him might 1 don’t 

think any woman has a right to place men in s’uch a situa- 
tion. Enrico is quite right ! But I am a great fool to sup- 
pose that my feeling on the subject would have any weight 
with La Signorina Francesca ! ” 

“ I am sure. Signor Einaldo, it would have as much weight 
with me as that of any of our other friends. Think what is 
the alternative proposed to me ! To remain here with Beppa 
by ourselves in this lone house, with all sorts of bad people 
about, and not a man in the place to protect one ! ” 

“ Hay, Francesca,” said the Professor, “ you might go to 
our mother. I could easily find the means of sending you to 
Bologna.” 

“Yes! I think I see myself creeping into the old house 
to ask my mother to take care of me, after telling her that 1 
was going to join the volunteers. A pretty sort of reception 
I should get, and a pleasant sort of life I should have of it 
with la mamma under those circumstances ! And she telling 
every Bomagnole liberal that came to the house the story of 


160 THE professor’s SUPPER-TABLE. 

the patriot girl, whose zeal was hot as long as it was all talk, 
hut whose courage melted away as soon it came to deeds ! 
No ! I should have thought that you knew la mamma better 
than that, Pietro ! 

think,’^ said Giulio, “that the Signora Prancesca will 
go with us to Lombardy. And I can say, from my own 
knowledge, that she will not be the only one of her sex who 
will wear the uniform.’^ 

“Thanks, Signor Giulio!” said Francesca, giving him a 
nod and a bright smile. “ I can’t say good night,” said 
Giulio, “ till I have heard from the Professor all that has 
been done since I have been awaj’’, and how things stand, and 
what has still to be done, and what the prospects really are of 
being able to get oif by the 23rd ? ” 

“ If we are to be of any use,” said Pinaldo, “ it is clear 
that, ready or not ready, we must not delay. The news from 
Lombardy shows that the army is in a position which makes 
it now or never with us 1 ” 

“ I have done my part 1 ” said Francesca ; “ or, at least, 
have very nearly done. These are the last four of the twenty 
blouses I had to make, besides those for our own part}?" I ” 

“ One for the Professor, one for Pinaldo, and one for Enri- 
co. That makes twenty-three blouses for your contribution ! 
said Giulio, with a meaning glance at Francesca. 

“ Yes ! Signor Giulio ! ” answered she, returning his look, 
“and one more for another person, and that makes twenty- 
four ! ” 

Then, while the frugal supper was eaten, Giulio obtained 
the information he had asked for ; and the hopes and fears 
connected with the great subject which was then occupying 
every Italian heart and head were discussed with an enthusi- 
astic confidence in the result, which Giulio Malatesta alone of 
the little party was unable altogether to share. 


THE MARCH. 


161 


CHAPTER HI. 

THE MARCH. 

On the 23rd of March 1848, the body of volunteers com- 
posed of the students and professors of the University of 
Pisa, started on their march for Lombard3^ The Tuscan con- 
tingent, of which they formed part, consisted of 26G0 soldiers 
of the Tuscan army, and of 2207 civilian volunteers — total, 
4867 men. Of these latter, of whom the Corpo Universita- 
rio from Pisa formed a notaVjle portion. General Ladgier under 
whose command they were placed wrote afterwards — “ The 
many good, burning with patriotism and enthusiasm, were in- 
spired with ever}’- honorable sentiment. The few bad were 
desirious only of vagabondising and plundering, and but little 
inclined for fighting. But all were more or less intolerant of 
discipline.^^ The start was at last made in such ill-regulated 
haste, that not onl}’’ were a variety of things necessaiy for a 
body of troops in the field forgotten, but even the munition 
furnished was, in many cases, found unfitted for the calibre of 
the arms for which it was intended to serve ! Of the leaders 
under whom the student bodj’- marched, the authorit}’’ already 
cited declares that, “ though all of them were distinguislied, 
and, indeed, profoundl}' learned men, they had nothing what- 
ever of the military character or knowledge about them, save 
bravery, honor, and their uniform ! ” 

Malatesta had joined his friends at the Professor’s house 
over-night, as they had determined to keep together, and they 
had feared that they might miss each other in the confusion 
of the departure the next morning. Five individuals, there- 
fore, came forth that bright March morning from that lone 
house among the gardens — five without counting Beppa, the 
servant, who had instructions to lock the house behind her, 
and carry the key to a brother professor, to be left in his 
charge till the owners should return. 

Francesca had cut her hair short, and in the blouse and 
foraging cap might well pass muster as a lad of eighteen or 
nineteen. She was entered on the roll as Francesco Varani, 
and passed as p. cousin of the Professor. The only persons 
who were really in possession of the secret were the four who 
have been seen discussing the expediency of the measure. 

10 


162 


THE MARCH. 


The unwonted attire suited the style of Francesca’s beauty, 
and set off to the best advantage her height, regular features, 
and brilliant coloring. It was impossible not to be strongly 
impressed by the very striking beauty of her face and figure. 

Impossible that the young men who were to be her compan- 
ions were not much struck by her appearance among them, 
when she joined them on that fateful morning for the first 
time in her travestied costume. Enrico alone could not refrain 
from exclaiming, as she came into the room in which the same 
little party had been assembled at supper a few days previ- 
ously, “ 0 ! come siete hella cosi ! * Who would have 
thought La Francesca w’as so much taller than I ! ” 

But his brother had answered grufflj’’ and almost savagely : 

Qui non si tratta di bellezza, ve\ raggazzo mio ! e qui non 
c’e La Francesca. Oramai bisogna avere altri pensieri per 
la testa ! ” t 

Rinaldo dice benef’^X said Francesca, without a smile, 
and blushing but slightly, as she frankly stretched out a hand, 
to each of them. It was the first time she had ever called him 
“Einaldo,” without the adjunct of the “Signore.” He un- 
derstood right well — pur trojpOj § as he would have said him- 
self that the frank familiarity indicated no shade of diminu- 
tion of the distance between them, as between man and 
woman, but only the footing of comradeship, on which they 
were to stand during their campaigning life. 

Francesca, however, had duly appreciated, and been grateful 
for the delicate consideration, which was hidden beneath Ei- 
naldo’s roughness; although it would be too much to affixm 
that Eurico’s indiscretion had been displeasing to her. 

“Yes! Einaldo speaks well!” said Giulio, gravely; “we 
must teach our tongues to recognise our comrade.” 

“ I wonder,” said the Professor, “ if we shall be expected to 
march in regular file, as the soldiers do ? I hate w'alking close 
behind a man only one step in front of me,” added the wmrthy 
botanist, showing his militar3’- aptitudes as he spoke, bj’’ 
attemping to sling his knapsack beneath his arm, as he had 
been wont to carry his tin-case of botanical specimens. 

“Ho! that wmn’t do, Professor! Try it this way!” said 

® “Oh ! how beautiful you look in that dress ! ” 

t “There is no question of beauty here, mark, my lad! And there is no Francesca 
here I Henceforth we must have other thoughts in our heads I ’’ 

I “ Eiualdo says well ! “ _ § " Rut too well*.’’ 


THE MARCH. 


163 


GiuHo, smiling, as he showed Varani how to manage the un- 
familiar article. 

Then they proceeded together to the muster-place, where 
their arms were to be distributed to them. For tliat had been 
left to this last morning of their departure. There was a great 
deal of confusion, too, connected with the necessary arrange- 
ment of the companies and squadrons. The latter consisted 
of twelve men each under a corporal. Varani had been named 
to this dignity in the first instance. But, at his own urgent in- 
stance, the Professor had been allowed to decline tlie greatness 
thus thrust upon him, and the choice had fallen upon Giulio 
Malatesta in his stead. The remaining four of our little party 
had no difficulty in getting placed together in the same squad- 
ron under his orders. 

All the business connected with these arrangements had to 
he done b}^ men wholly ignorant of all such atiairs, with men 
as entirely new to the work, and possessing very small notions 
of the nature of military discipline, and of the precision of 
obedience requisite to prevent an army from becoming a mob. 
Even the commander-in-chief (II Professor Mossotti) found 
his distinguished mathematical science of no avail to supply 
the place of so much as a corporal’s knowledge of the art of 
war ; and the other superior officers, who were as profoundly 
ignorant of militarj’’ matters, had a very hard time of it that 
morning, and were more than once tempted to think that the 
Corpo Uiiiversitario oi volunteers, however anxious every man 
of it was to find himself face to face with the enemy in Lom- 
bardy, would never get started on its first day’s march towards 
that object. It was late in the day before the little column 
did at last get itself into marching order, and pass out of 
Pisa. 

All this work and confusion had to he got through beneath 
one of those searching March suns so little liked by the 
Italians, whose proverb declares that, Sole di Marzo, e Sole 
del Diavolo ! ” The distance performed that day was a ridi- 
culously short one; and their halting-place for the first night 
was among neighbors and friends, of whom some were person- 
allj'- acquainted with many of the men engaged in an expedi- 
tion, with the scope and object of wdiich the whole country-side 
in that district warmly sympathised. The same might be said 
of nearly the whole of the country the Tuscan volunteers had 
to march through. 


164 


THE MARCH. 


Had grim old Eadetzky, or any one of the officers of his 
well-appointed staff, been there to watch that start and first 
day’s march from Pisa, tliose distinguished warriors would 
have scoffed yet more loudly than they did at the notion of 
these boys coming out from their books and lecture-rooms to 
drive their veteran battalions across the Alps ! 

The first day passed pleasantly enough, and, on the whole, 
even agreeable, for the volunteers in general, and for the little 
party of five in whom we are more especially interested. The 
march was so short, that the bustle preparatory to the starting 
had been the most fatiguing part of the day’s work. The 
weather was fine. Everybody was in high spirits ; and the 
excitement of finding themselves at last fairly embarked in the 
enterprise which had so long filled all their thoughts and stim- 
ulated all their imaginations, would have been sufficient to ren- 
der them insensible to a much greater degree of fatigue. 

To Francesca, in her meditations on the detail of the enter- 
prise in which she was engaged, as far as her imagination had 
enabled her to picture them to herself, this first day’s experience 
had naturally been an object of some apprehension. It had 
passed better than she had ventured to hope. She had had to 
endure, with such assumption of indifference as she could mus- 
ter, many a glance of inquiry and curiosity during the hours 
that had preceded the departure ; she had had to exchange 
many a grasp of the hand with friends of her brother, who were 
to be made acquainted with his recently arrived cousin from 
Bologna ; and she had more especially to enter into relations 
of comradeship with the other members of the squadron which 
marched under the orders of Corporal Malatesta. All this had 
passed without any cause of embarrassment, or any reason to 
imagine that any of the persons with whom she was called upon 
to come in contact conceived the slightest suspicion that she 
was other than she appeared to be. It is very possible that 
some of those who had been specially engaged in the enrol- 
ment of the body of volunteers, may have had some reason to 
suspect the truth. If such were the case, no slightest symptom 
of any such suspicion was suffered to become apparent 

To ignore that which one is not intended or wished to know, 
is a special Italian accomplishment and habit 

So the short march passed gaily enough. The Professor was 
in unusually high spirits. Malatesta, too, seemed happier, and 
in a more expansive mood than was usual with him. As for 


THE MARCH. 


165 


Enrico, he seemed absolutely intoxicated with delight. He 
could scarcely restrain his limbs to the sober moderation of the 
marching step, and would toss his musket from shoulder to 
shoulder to show how entirely unoppressive to him was its 
weight. Only Rinaldo seemed ill at ease, and appeared an- 
noyed at all Francesca said or did; — and most annoyed of all 
at the evident air of protection and care which she, already 
affected with regard to Enrico. 

Francesca saw all this, and perfectly well understood the 
cause and meaning of it all. The one or two wwds, or even 
the glance of the eye which would have remedied Kinaldo’s ill, 
and rendered him as blithe as the lightest-hearted boy who was 
then on his way to meet an Austrian bullet, Francesca was 
unable, perhaps unwilling, to give him. 

For the great majority of the lads bound on this holiday- 
making excursion for the liberation of Italj", that march around 
the base of the Monte Pisano, as the lengthening shadows of 
the winding column crept farther up the slopes to their right, 
was a pleasant promenade enough. The graver and more seri- 
ous spirits discussed the future prospects and organization of 
the country ; and the lighter recounted tales, that went to show 
the easy vincibilitj^ of the detested Austrian, wdiom the gen- 
eral opinion appeared to represent as a ferocious giant indeed, 
but a stupid sort of giant too, easily to be discomfited by a 
deft giant-killer who dared to beard him. Many sung patriotic 
songs as they marched ; and no shoulders were yet galled by 
the musket, and no withers 3*et w^ruug by the knapsack, and 
no feet blistered by ill-fitting shoes. Eations were plenty at 
night ; and everybody vied in making much of the young 
heroes who w^ere going to chase the Austrians ; all, or almost 
all, slept in beds that night; and the poor boys found cam- 
paigning quite as delightful as they had pictured it to them- 
selves. 

Campaigning, like life itself, is apt to disclose its sterner and 
less holiday aspects as one gets farther into it. The volunteer 
column was bound, in the first instance, for Modena. Kindly, 
gentle, homely Tuscany had to be left. The Apennine had to 
be crossed. The day’s march had necessarily to be lengthened, 
if only from the necessity of reaching some quarter for the 
night. The discovery had to be made of the altogether incred- 
ible difference between marching in fine weather and in bad. 
Quarters had on more than one occasion to be found in places 


166 


THE MARCH. 


where the inhabitants, or at least those in authority among 
them, were more or less openly disaffected towards the volun- 
teers and the object they had in view. It had to be discovered 
how great a difference this, too, made in the aspects of things, 
when the column reached its resting-place, wear}!- and worn 
with a long daj^’s march ; — or at least with a march which was 
so to a body composed of such elements. 

Muskets and knapsacks were found to be no longer easily 
carried when they had made their marks on the unaccustomed 
flesh, and when the way lay for long hours of unbroken ascent 
up the steep flank of the Apennine ! Wearily the somewhat 
surprised, but in no wise disheartened column plodded its way 
over the pine-covered mountains on the Tuscan and Modenese 
frontier. 

One night, after a longer march than usual, the column 
reached a small village among the hills of the Garfagnana. 
The day had been rather a trying one ; not, perhaps, to more 
experienced campaigners, but the unseasoned Tuscan boys had 
found it so. They were weary and footsore as the sun went 
down, earlier by a good half-hour than it would have done at 
home in Pisa, behind the lofty marble mountains between 
them and the Tuscan sea. Nevertheless, though there was a 
good deal of straggling, aM it was impossible to prevent the 
men from falling out to drink at every roadside fountain sup- 
plied by the mountain rivulets, and worse still, from entering 
the few little hill taverns on the route in search of a drink of 
wine, the little column was still in good heart, and chatter and 
singing still helped to keep up their’ spirits. As the sun went 
down, while they had still two or three miles to march, heavy 
clouds began rapidly sailing up towards the zenith from the 
tops of the Apennine range to the eastward, and a fast cold 
rain began to fall. The songs soon died awaj’’ ; the chattering 
did not last much after them ; and the men plodded on in 
silence to no more enlivening accompaniment than the slushy 
tramp of their feet in the mud. Then those who marched in 
the rear began to understand the advantage of being forwarder 
in the column, and thus doing their work on less deeply tram- 
pled soil. 

Malatesta’s squadron marched towards the rear of the 
column ; and the labor of carrying knapsack and musket over 
those two last miles of ankle-deep mire at the close of a long 
day, might have been found trying by older troops. 


THE MARCH. 


167 


Kevertheless, the little party of five held up bravely; nor 
did either of the two weaker ones, whose joining in the expe- 
dition had been a matter of question, admit for an instant the 
thought that it would have been better if they had listened to 
the counsel which would have dissuaded them from doing so. 

As for the Professor, his cheerfulness seemed to rise with the 
demands made upon it. He persisted in prognosticating a 
beautiful day for the morning; and trudged cheerily onward, 
the only talkative one of the party, under the load of two 
muskets ; for when the rain and the spirits of the rest of them 
had began to fall together, he had insisted on carrying Enrico’s 
musket for him, quite as much to the boy’s mental annoyance 
as to his bodily relief. 

Francesca stood the work, in truth, better than he did. She 
had absolutely and peremptorily refused to give up her own 
musket to Einaldo, declaring, in reply to his reiterated en- 
treaties, that she felt no fatigue comparable to what she had 
anticipated, and that she had not come there to add to the diffi- 
culties and burdens of others. 

In somewhat less than an hour’s march under the rain, the 
little town which was to be their resting-place for the night 
was reached. It afforded small and insufficient means of ac- 
commodation ; fortuuatel}’’, the people were well-disposed to- 
wards the volunteers, and, as the weary column straggled into 
the piazza of the place, they came out from their houses, and 
vied w'ith each other in offering everything in their power 
which could contribute to the comfort of the men. Neverthe- 
less, no better shelter could be found for a large portion of 
them than the large council-chamber and one or two other 
empty rooms of the Palazzo puhhlico of the little town. An 
abundance of clean straw was carried into these rooms, and 
there the wet and tired volunteers were glad enough to rest 
their limbs and sleep. It was not a very pleasant thing, how- 
ever, for delicately-nurtured lads, as most of the Corpo Univer- 
sitario were, to lay themselves down in their wet clothes on an 
allowance of floor about two feet and a half wide for each man, 
there to simmer in an atmosphere loaded with the damp that 
would arise from the united mass of wet garments ! 

“This is impossible ! ” said liinaldo, in a low tone to Fran- 
cesca. “ You cannot pass the night here ! ” 

“ If I could not do worse than that at need,” said Francesca, 
in a similar tone, “ I ought to have stayed at home. See 


168 


THE MARCH. 


now ! there, in that corner, I can sit comfortably enough 
against the wall, and the Professor sliall sit next me. I shall 
do well enough ! I do wish that it were possible for Enrico to 
have the means of drying his clothes. I suppose it is impos- 
sible ! ” 

I am afraid so ! Where is Yarani ? asked Pinaldo. 

I can’t think ! ” replied his sister. He ran off directly 
after we were shown this place. He said he should be back 
immediately.” 

“ The men are scattered all over the place ! I suppose roll- 
call will be dispensed with to-night. Many of them have found 
lodging in the private houses. Where is Enrico?” 

Francesca pointed to a corner formed by a wooden screen, 
which, standing at right angles to the wall, was intended to 
protect the chamber from the draught of the great doorway. 
There, crouched close in the corner, with his head resting 
against the screen, Enrico was already fast asleep. 

“Poor little fellow!” she said, “he is sadly tired! I 
would that we could do anything for him !” 

As she spoke, Yarani came stumbling and shuffling into the 
room, out of breath with hurry. 

“ Come ! come away ! all of jmu ! There are three beds I 
Come along ! Quick ! The Professor wants somebody to take 
care of him, does he, cousin Francesco ? Or is it he, rather, 
that takes care of the jmung folks ? Come along ! ” 

And then, while Enrico was with some difficulty roused and 
made to understand that he must walk 3-et a few more j’ards 
that night, but that there was a good bed at the end of them, 
the Professor explained that as soon as he had heard the name 
of the place where they were, he recollected that an old medi- 
cal friend and comrade of his was there ; — that he had rushed 
off in search of him, and was lucky enough to find him before 
he had promised the accommodation he had to offer to others. 
He had, of course, received his old friend with open arms ; 
had sent him to bring his part}’’ at once to his house, and 
could promise beds for three, a warm shake-down for the other 
two, and a supper for all. 

The fatigue and the wetting were soon forgotten in the 
kindlj^ ministrations and hospitality of good Dr. Monaldi and 
his wife. The Professor absolutely and peremptorily^ refused 
to occupy either of the three beds at the disposal of the part3^ 
Half the night- he said, would not be at all more than enough 


SIGNORTNA BENEDETTA. 


169 


for all the talk he wanted to have with his old friend, and an 
arm-chair before the fire would do admirabl}'- well for the other 
half. Eurico had been barely able to keep awake long enough 
to get some supper before he was stretched on one of the two 
beds in the room occupied by the doctor and his wife. Fran- 
cesca did not make any difficulty of accepting the room and 
bed of the doctor’s one maid-servant. Giulio and Kinaldo hav- 
ing agreed to toss up for the other bed in the principal cham- 
ber, the lot fell to Einaldo, and he was soon fast asleep by the 
side of his brother. 

Signora Monaldi and her maid went out to share the beds 
of some neighbors, and the Doctor, the Professor, and Mala- 
testa piled up the logs on the hearth, drew the most comfort- 
able of the chairs around it, and prepared to pass the night as 
best they might between chatting and sleeping. 


CHAPTEE IV. 

SIGNORIlSrA BENEDETTA. 

The small troubles of this first evening’s march in the wet 
were, however, but the foretaste of much more and worse of 
the same sort that was in store for the Tuscan volunteers. 

It continued to rain all night, and there was at daybreak 
ever}^ symptom that it would continue to do so. The men 
formed in marching order in the piazza of the little town, 
and prepared for their day’s work under a pouring rain. 

There was no singing and little talking in the ranks, as the 
column marched out of the hospitable little town and set their 
faces towards the chestnut and pine-covered side of the moun- 
tain. Shortly after mid-day, when many a weary mile had 
to be traversed before the stopping-place for the night was 
reached, Enrico became very much knocked up. Again the 
Professor took his musket, and Einaldo insisted on carrying 
his knapsack in addition to his own. The poor boy strove 
liard to resist this, and suffered much before he would consent 
to it. He was at length compelled to do so, as well as to 
allow Malatesta to assist him by giving him his arm. Eran- 


170 ' 


SIGNORINA BENEDETTA. 


cesca stood the work better than could have been expected — - 
as well, indeed, as any one of the party. She had wished to 
assist Enrico on the other side, but the proposal had so evi- 
dently wounded the poor boy’s pride to the quick, that she 
had not repeated it. An hour or two later, however, while 
yet another hour’s work remained -to be done, he became so 
much worse, and so “ groggy ” in his walk, as the pugilistic 
phrase very graphically, if somewhat inelegantly, expresses it, 
that his companions began to fear he would be absolutely un- 
able to go on. Einaldo labored on bravely under the two 
knapsacks, and the Professor, though he declared he did not 
feel the difference, was laden quite enough with a musket in 
addition to his own. Malatesta was doing his utmost to sup- 
port the boy, but he was stumbling at every step. Francesca 
again stepped to his side, and, without saying anything, put 
his arm within hers. Still the poor child’s pride of manhood 
struggled hard. 

“No! Francesca!” he said; “I can go better alone! I 
can indeed ! And — and — don’t you know,” he added, in a 
lower voice, “ that I would rather lie down and die by the 
roadside than add to your toil and difficulty. It must be bad 
enough for jmu as it is ! ” 

Francesca made no reply, but drawing her brother a little 
behind, she said, “ Give me one of the muskets, and go and 
give him your arm. Quick ! and do not say a word !” 

The Professor did as he was bid; and Enrico, unconscious 
of the extra load which had been laid upon Francesca, did not 
reject his aid. 

Thus, half carried, half dragged along, the boy reached the 
end of the day’s journey ; and there were others in the ranks 
who had been as hardly able to do so as he. The worst was 
not over yet. 

The crest of the Apennine had been passed, and also the 
frontier of the Tuscan dominion. The village — for it was 
little more than that — which was to be their resting-place for 
that night, was in the Modenese territory ; and the Tuscans, 
for the first time, found themselves in foreign country. A 
little outside the village the column halted, as usual, for the 
report of the serjeants to be made to the commanding officer, 
and for the different companies to receive their directions as 
to the different quarters provided for them. The rain was 
still falling, but the hard day’s work was done, and the 


SIGNOKINA BENEDETTA. 171 

weary, draggled, jaded men were consoling themselves with 
the thought of food and rest. 

One after another the serjeants declared that all their efforts 
to provide suitable quarters for the men had been vain ; they 
had been met by evasions, studied difficulties, or flat refusals. 
The means of lodging the column seemed to be in reality very 
small. The only monastery in the place — a resource very fre- 
quently made available in Italy for such purposes — was on a 
high hill, at least a mile from the town. There was a small 
palazzo puhblico in which shelter for two or three hundred of 
the men might possibly be found. Unless by force, it did not 
seem likely that they could get access to it. The keys were 
said to be in the hands of some official who was not to be 
found. There was an open loggia in the piazza of the little 
town which might serve as a shelter, but would prove in such 
a night, and after such a day, a most miserable resource. A 
small number of the people had professed themselves willing 
to do what they could towards sheltering some few of the vol- 
unteers in their houses, but the great majority had shown 
themselves altogether hostile and disinclined to be of an}^ ser- 
vice. Even the rations they had with difficulty been able to 
purchase were scanty and very insufficient. In short, the 
prospect was as little cheering as was possible, and to the per- 
fect inexperience of the officers in command of the column, 
sufficiently perplexing. 

After a few words of consultation among them, the men 
were ordered to advance, and take up a position in the piazza^ 
availing themselves of such shelter as the loggia, or other 
such places, might afford from the still falling rain, while the 
officers in command of the body ascertained what could best 
be done. , 

There was in the same piazza the west front of a large 
church, the principal one of the town ; and the first measure 
that occurred was to put the wet and tired men into that shel- 
ter, and, if possible, to obtain a quantity of straw for them 
to lie upon. An officer was accordingly sent to the curato to 
request that the church might be opened for that purpose. 
The curato, however, declared that the sacristan had the 
keys, and that he himself had no means of access to the 
church without him; The sacristan was not at home ; and 
his niece, the only person in his house, declared that she did 
not know where her uncle was to be found. In short, after 


172 


SIGNORINA BENEDETTA. 


nearly an hour had been lost in these vain attempts, it became 
clear that there was nothing for it but to force open the door 
at the certain cost of a shriek of rage in the reactionary 
papers at the sacrilege ! Then more delay occurred in finding 
a blacksmith who was willing to undertake such an office. 
When at length a Vulcan was discovered, who, under repeated 
protest that he acted on compulsion, did not absolutely refuse 
to do the required stroke of his work, much more difficulty 
had to be got over before any straw could be obtained to 
spread on the damp cold flagstones of the church. 

Meantime, the serjeant of the company to which the Pro- 
fessor and his party belonged, had been somewhat more suc- 
cessful in obtaining admission to a much smaller church in 
another part of the small town. It was not a parish church, 
but one of those small oratories of which there are such num- 
bers in every town in Italy ; and the priest who had charge 
of it was, as his sister and housekeeper declared, absent from 
the place. She, however, produced the key (acting under 
protest, as she too, declared), but in some degree, as might be 
believed, from pity for the poor shivering lads so grievously in 
need of shelter. 

It was very wretched shelter that the little building afford- 
ed ; for though it was floored with boards instead of flagstones 
like the large church, it was miserably damp, and exhaled an 
odor of rotting wood from its dark cavern-like vaults, that 
was anything but inviting to a traveler in search of a bed- 
chamber. The company, however, whose serjeant had the 
good luck to find this place of shelter, while the rest of tlie 
body were still waiting for the opening of the larger building, 
crowded into it eagerly, and more than conveniently filled the 
small space. 

“ At least, she was better than that other scoundrel of a 
priest,’^ said the serjeant to Malatesta, as the company were 
moving off from the piazza to take possession of the accommo- 
dation found for them. 

He was alluding to the priest’s sister, who had given the 
key of the little oratory. 

If she did it for any sake save that of sheer fear,” an- 
swered Malatesta, who still had Enrico between him and the 
Professor ; I dare say she was frightened out of her life ! ” 

Well ! I can’t say she appeared to like the look of me ! ” 
returned the serjeant, laughing. “ The old girl spoke to me 


SIGNORINA BENEDETTA. 


173 


out of the window. There was no getting her down to tlie 
door, though I used all the coaxing I could think of. At last, 
she threw me the key out of the window ! 

“ I do believe,’^ returned Malatesta, that they think we 
are cannibals. How did 3^11 find out where the priest 
lived ? 

“ Oh ! he lives in a bit of lodging built over the east end 
of the little church. You can’t see the place from the front ; 
hut turn up that little lane alongside of the church, and 3’^ou 
will see three or four little windows in a strip of wall stuck on 
to the top of it, and a little narrow door in the corner of a 
buttress below. Of course, I knew that was the priest’s quar- 
ters. There is a bell-handle at the door, like you see at an 
apothecary’s, for rousing out the old fellow, when he’s wanted 
in a hurry at night. So I rang away at that, till the house- 
keeper put her head out of the window.” 

Pooh ! ah ! what a hole ! ” cried Malatesta, as he entered 
the little orator}^. You will be glad of some hour’s rest even 
here, Enrico, my poor fellow,” he added, as they went in. 

“Oh ! I shall do very well, Giulio! ” said the bo3’’, striving 
to brighten up ; “I feel a great deal better than I did before 
we arrived, already.” 

“ I shall make haste and look out for the driest corner of 
this damp den ! ” said the Professor ; “ come along ! ” 

Malatesta followed, leaving the boy’s arm a minute, as he 
pressed on with the crowd into the narrow doorway of the 
church. Instead of following, Enrico, who had listened to 
what had passed between Malatesta and the serjeant and into 
whose head an idea had flashed suddenly, stole awa}’’ from the 
crowd who were thronging into the church, and, turning up 
the lane found the door and the bell, as had been described, 
readily enough, though it was by that time very dark. 

He pulled the bell three or four times before he succeeded 
in bringing the same “ old girl,” as the serjeant has irrever- 
ently called the Signora Benedetta Lanfredoni, the sister and 
housekeeper of the priest of the Oratory of St. Trofimo, once 
again to the window. 

“ Signorina ! ” cried a flute-like childish voice, as the white- 
capped head was poked out peering into the darkness ; “ Sig- 
norina ! ” 

“ Chi e ? ” answered the white cap, which was all that was 
visible in the darkness ; “ il Friore is not at home. You must 
return another day ! ” 


174 


SIGNORINA BENEDETTA. 


don’t want the Priore, Signorina ! ” replied Enrico, in 
his most coaxing tone, and putting a special emphasis on the 
syllable indicative of the flattering diminutive, which turned 
lady, into young lady ; ''I want to speak to you, if I might.” 

Then a light glimmered under the door ; — a noise of with- 
drawing heavy bolts was heard, and the little door was cau- 
tiously opened. 

“ Come in out of the rain, child, and tell me your message ! ” 
said Benedetta, carefully protecting her lamp from the wind 
with her hand, in such a manner that its light was prevented 
from falling upon Enrico till he was within the door, and had, 
as he entered, shut it behind him. It was but for an instant 
that its glare fell on him. Ko sooner had it revealed the out- 
ward semblance of the volunteer, than it fell from Benedetta’s 
hand, and was extinguished by the fall ! 

“ Shall I light the lamp, Signorina ? I have got some 
matches in my pocket.” 

“ Yes ! ” she answered, after a moment’s silence, it would 
be better to light the lamp if you can find it. I should be 
obliged to you if you would do so, — and then you must go 
away — for indeed, 3"oung man, I have nothing to give you.” 

Enrico soon found the lamp, lighted it, and advanced to 
restore it to the lady, who had retreated to the foot of the 
stairs at the other end of the passage. 

As he put it into her hand, bowing as he did so, and looking 
up wistfully into her face, she ventured to look at him for the 
first time ; and there was something in what she saw that ap- 
pealed irresistibly to her woman’s heart." The pretty boyish 
face was pale and haggard, the poor slender little figure mud- 
bedraggled, and drenched to the skin. 

“ Thank jmu, young man ! ” said Benedetta, as she took the 
light from his hand ; you look very pale and tired. Bless 
me ! it is quite a child ! What do you want of me, young 
man ! ” 

“ I did not mean to come in, Signorina ! ” replied Enrico 
very submissively, I only wanted to ask you a great favor, — 
a charity in the name of God ! ” 

“ But what can I do for you ? I have nothing to give you ! 
Poor boy ! how pale you look ! And you are wet to the skin ! 
Dio mio ! what can be done for you ? ” 

“ My name, Signorina, is Enrico Palmieri ; I am from Elo- 
rence. But, mia cara Signorina, that is not what I wanted 


SIGNORINA BENEDETTA. 


175 


to ask of you. I am very tired, but I shall do very well with 
the others on the clean straw in the church below there. I 
wanted, mici huona Signorina,*' sinking his voice to a coaxing 
whisper, “to ask your charitable kindness and compassion for 
another, a comrade, who is far more in need of it than I am.’^ 
“ You are mad, my child, I, the sister and governante of 
Don Antonio Lanfredoni, admit a man to sleep in the house, 
and my brother absent ! What would all the town say? ” 

“ Oh ! Signorina ! how could you think that I should ask 
such a thing, or suppose it possible ! Listen ! it is a great se- 
cret. But I know you can be trusted with it. I would not 
tell it to any one else for the world ! Listen, Signorina ! 
And the little rogue aftected to whisper, though there was no 
ear near them. “ It is a poor girl whom I want you to give 
shelter to ! Think of a poor girl, Signorina — a good, modest 
girl — in the midst of the men down there ! She is with her 
brother, a Professor of Pisa ; and her only reason for coming 
is to be with him ! ’’ 

“ Santa Madonna ! And pray, young man,” — for Enrico 
had suddenly resumed his manly stature, in worthy Signora 
Benedetta’s imagination, — “what induces you to think of this 
young lady before thinking of yourself? ” 

“ I lodge in the Professor’s house, Signorina ; and Donna 
Francesca has been like a mother to me,” said the wil^' fellow ; 
“ Oh ! Signorina, there can be no harm in taking in a poor 
girl, and saving her from passing such a night. I ask it in 
the name of the Madonna, who will bless you for it ! ” 

Signora Benedetta, partly moved by curiosity, partly by the 
vehemence of Enrico’s entreaties, and partly, perhaps, by the 
prospect of the bit of gossip to be got out of the matter when 
the volunteers should have taken their departure, allowed him 
to go. 

Making his way through the crowd about the door into the 
little musty oratory, where the men, in miserable plight enough, 
w'ere in the confusion of getting their scanty rations, Enrico 
found his friends, wondering much what could have become of 
him. 

“ I have found a lodging for Francesca,” he whispered ; 
“^mu must come with me, directly, Francesca! None of the 
others must come ! For it is a lone woman, and you would 
frighten her out of her wits ! It was very difficult to persuade 
her ! But I succeeded. Come, Francesca, quick I It is close 
at hand.” 


176 


SIGNORINA BENEDETTA. 


Caro Enrico ! ” exclaimed Francesca, taking liis hand ; to 
think of your busjdng yourself about me, knocked up as you 
are yourself. And I talked of taking care of you ! ’’ 

‘‘ You know well,’’ Einaldo whispered, stepping up to her 
side, “ how miserable all the discomforts you have to endure 
make me. I implore you to go at once with Enrico to the 
place he has been fortunate enough to find for you. I cannot 
help envying him the chance,” he added in a yet lower whis- 
per, “ though I know it would have made no difference, un- 
less, perhaps, to induce you to refuse it.” 

“ Well ! I suppose I must go ! ” said Francesca. “ But 
about Enrico ” 

“Be sure,” said the Professor, “that we will take very good 
care that he shall have the best place we can make for him 
here.” 

“ Well ! if it must be so, good night all ! Come along, En- 
rico. You ought to be quartermaster-general.” 

Then, as they stood together at the little narrow door of the 
priest’s dwelling, Enrico had to confess the means he had been 
obliged to use to obtain the boon required, assuring his com- 
panion, not very truthfully, that it would have been out of the 
question to induce the priest’s sister to receive him “ or any 
other of the men.” 

Though at first somewhat startled by the betrayal of her 
secret, it was impossible for Francesca to be angry with the 
boy ; and a moment’s reflection showed her that in truth no 
harm of any kind could arise from its being known to-morrow 
in the little remote town that there was a woman in the ranks 
of the Corpo XJniversitario. So she mixed but a little scold- 
ing with her thanks and injunctions to him to take the best 
care he could of himself. 

Within half an hour of her arrival Francesca and Benedetta 
were great friends, and the good governante did everything she 
could to make her guest comfortable. Her wet clothes, which 
were a subject of infinite curiosity and much examination to 
Signora Benedetta, were dried and cleaned. And the next 
morning, the handsome private in Corporal Malatesta’s squad- 
ron was the only one in the column, who came to morning 
roll-call dry, clean, and restored bj’- a comfortable night’s rest. 

That miserable day’s march which has been described, and 
which brought the little column across the crest of the Apen- 
nine, was the worst of the route. The remaining days were 


SIGNORINA BENEDETTA. 


177 


fine, and the men had nothing worse to contend against than 
blistered feet and fatigue. 

Nevertheless, that terrible day had done considerable mis- 
chief. Many were subsequently obliged to go into the hos- 
pital in consequence of it. It was evident to all the little 
party of friends, on starting the following morning, that 
Enrico, among others, had caught a bad cold. He declared 
that there was nothing the matter with him, and though mani- 
festly sutfering, marched on bravely all the early part of the 
day. Francesca watched him with anxious eyes as they pro- 
ceeded on their way. She was very sure that he was ill. He 
would not admit it, however, and struggled on through that 
day. The next, he started in the morning, still striving hard 
not to break down. He had a good deal of fever, and had not 
been able to sleep during the night. The column had marched 
scarcely two miles, before he was compelled to fall out, and sit 
down shivering, with his hands and feet burning, on a bank 
by the roadside. They put him in an ambulance cart, and so 
the next day reached Reggio, where he was obliged to go into 
hospital. 

Fortunately the volunteers remained there for some time 
and the discipline was not so strict as that his friends, spe- 
cially the Professor and Francesca, found any difficulty in ob- 
taining permission to visit him frequently. For a few hours 
at one time he was a little light-headed ; and it was touching 
to hear his despair at being, as he fancied, left behind, while 
his comrades had marched on to do the work, in which he had 
so burned to take his part. Francesca, who was by his bed- 
side at the time, strove to assure him that such was not the 
case, that they were all still in Reggio, that the corps was not 
expected to move yet, and that he would be well in time to 
march with them. 

“ Where is Rinaldo he asked ; “ if I can be wdth him, I 
know I shall be in time ! They won’t fight without him ! 
Are you sure Rinaldo is not gone ? ” 

Francesca was obliged to go in search of his brother, and 
return with him to the bedside. During that night, which 
w-as the critical turning-point of his malady, she obtained per- 
mission to sit beside him ; and in the morning she was able to 
tell his brother and the others that he was pronounced out of 
danger, and in a fair way to recover quickly. Still, to assure 
and expedite this, a degree of watchful care and attendance 
11 


178 


SIGNORINA BENEDETTA. 


were necessary, wbich it is very difficult to command in a 
temporarily established and far from well-provided military 
hospital. And the medical man in charge of it, who declared 
that he had never seen a more decided vocation for the duty 
of a sick-nurse than that evinced by the volunteer Francesco 
Varani, made no difficulty in backing a request, that as long 
as the Corpo TIniversitario remained in Feggio, he might be 
permitted to remain in attendance on the boy Palmieri. The 
probability is, that the now eminent surgeon in question, whose 
eye is not likely to be deceived in such matters, made a very 
shrewd guess at the time as to the real sex of the nurse he was 
securing for his patient. 

Often, too, during his convalescence, Rinaldo would find op- 
portunities of spending an hour by his brother’s bedside. 
There was a great and close aflfection between the two father- 
less brothers, and E-inaldo, who had suffered much while En- 
rico’s life was in danger, was now almost as anxious as the boy 
himself that he should be well enough to march with the rest 
when they should leave Reggio. It may be doubted whether 
this anxiety was the solo feeling that prompted him to lose no 
opportunity of returning as frequently as possible to Enrico’s 
bedside. Possibly he might have contented himself with 
knowing that his brother was going on well, had he been at- 
tended by any other nurse. The hours he thus passed with 
Francesca, often while their patient slept, were by far the 
sweetest he had ever known in her societ3\ She seemed 
gentler, softer, he would have almost said more womanly, by 
his brother’s sick-bed than he had ever known her. Her 
manner to him seemed more easy, simple, and natural than of 
yore. He speculated much, and very fruitlessly, on the phe- 
nomenon. Was it all due to her tenderness for Enrico ? He 
had at times been sorely tempted to feel jealousy of his 
brother. 

Could Rinaldo have read a woman’s heart, as no man ever 
can, when he has an especial interest in the perusal of that 
cypher- written volume, and as most men learn to do hy the 
time the study is no longer of supreme importance to them, he 
would have discovered the cause of that change of manner 
which he could not miss seeing in Francesca, in the sure and 
salutary operation on her mind of a life passed amid the reali- 
ties of a noble and arduous enterprise, amid toil, illness, suffer- 
ing, privation, and difficulty. 


SIGNORINA BENEDETTA. 


179 


One day, when Einaldo went to pass the hour at his 
brother’s bedside, to which, for some time past, he had learned 
to look forward as the great pleasure of his daj^ he found En- 
rico up and dressed. The doctor had permitted him to get up 
for a few hours, on the express condition that he should re- 
main perfectly quiet. He had begged so hard that his musket 
might be shown to him — only shown to him, if he was not 
allowed to touch it — that Erancesca had consented to fetch it 
for* him. When Einaldo came he found him, in despite of 
Francesca’s remonstrances, with it on his shoulder, and show- 
ing, by a somewhat tottering march across the room, how per- 
fectly fit he was to resume his duties in the ranks. 

“ You will be, Enrico mio, quite in time to march with us 
across the Po,” said Francesca, taking it from him, “ if you 
are only not too much in a hurry. One more week of care and 
quiet here, and you will be able to carry your knapsack and 
shoulder your musket ! ” 

“ And I see no signs of our getting the order to march 
sooner than that,” said Einaldo. 

“Thank God!” said the boj", fervently. “Think what 
W'ould have become of me, if I had been obliged to remain 
here after you had all gone ; — to lie here on my back while 
you were driving the Austrians across the Alps ! Ah 1 I 
should never have got well any more then. I should have 
died, if it was from sheer rage ! ” 

“ Ah ! it would have been bitter enough ! ” returned his 
brother ; “ bitter enough for all of us to leave you. I don’t 
think you will forget in a hurry to whose care you owe it that 
it will not be so 1 ” 

“ I believe you I I hope never to forget it I — never — never,” 
added the boy, grasping Francesca’s hand as he spoke. 
“ With such a comrade one may go happily to the end of any 
campaign, let it be as long as it may ! ” 

“ Or any life ! ” said Einaldo, in a tone so low that it 
seemed doubtful whether it was intended to be heard or not, 
and not venturing to look at Francesca as he spoke. 

Francesca shot one quick furtive glance under her eyelashes 
at him ; and if any sharper eye than Einaldo’s had been 
there on the watch, a sudden flush, almost as momentary as 
the glance, might have been seen to pass over her cheeks and 
brow. But she replied only to the words of Eurico. 

“ You admit, then, at last, Signorino mio, that there was 


180 


THE HOUR BEFORE THE BATTLE. 


some show of reason in all that I said at Pisa, when I had to 
beg so hard to be permitted to accompany your lordships,’^ 
said she, with a sunny smile, which it is just possible might 
have been caused by the words of the elder rather than by 
those of the younger brother. 

“ Ah ! what an advantage I have put into your hands by 
falling ill !” said Enrico, laughing. “ But, dear Francesca, — 
how can I ever testify m}" sense of all I owe you ! ” 

Of what we both owe jmu — Francesca,” said Rinaldo, add- 
ing the last word hesitatingly, as if he felt that the termina- 
tion of it took away the permissibilitj’- of addressing her by 
her simple Christian name, as he, like the rest, had done, in 
the masculine gender, during their expedition. 

“Only this!” said Francesca, coloring up; “when it is 
over and we are back again in Tuscany, let Signora Palmier! 
know that I did my duty to her son, as I had promised to do. 
It would be a pleasure to me that she should know that.” 

• “ Yes ! I can understand that it may be sweet to receive 

the thanks of a mother,” said Binaldo ; — “ be very sure that 
they will be yours in no stinted measure, Francesca !” 

Enrico from that day recovered as rapidly as Francesca had 
promised him. Once on the road towards recovery from ill- 
ness, youth travels quickly. He had rejoined his companions 
several days before the order for marching was received. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE HOUR BEFORE THE BATTLE. 

The little volunteer corps crossed the Po on the 23rd of 
April ; but some time longer elapsed before events developed 
themselves sufficiently for it to become clear what precisely 
was the service which Italy would expect from the boys of 
Tuscany. What these poor University lads, to wlipm the 
smell of powder and almost the gleam of steel was unknown, 
chiefly feared was, that no opportunity would be afforded them 
of showing that the trumpet-call which sounded the hour of 
Italian resuscitation had waked from its sleep of three centu- 


THE HOUR BEFORE THE BATTLE. 181 

ries the old spirit that once cradled European freedom on the 
banks of the Arno. 

The}’’ were not doomed, however, to any such disgrace or 
disappointment. Though the map of Europe is thickly stud- 
ded with the sinister crossed-swords mark, which indicates the 
site of a blood-fattened battle-ground, there are few events of 
the veritable Thermopylae brand among those commemorated. 

There are two of these cross-sword marks set fast in the 
map since that May of 1848, about two miles apart from each 
other, and both of them about three from Mantua. The more 
northern of the two is at a spot called Curtatone, the other at 
one named Montamara — mute, inglorious hamlets. 

The volunteers had occupied these two points since the 10th 
of May, and the Austrians were in the swamp-guarded citadel 
of Mantua, only three miles off. The time went on, and the 
volunteers waited with such patience as they might till the day 
of their trial should come. 

About half the little bodj’’ were at Curtatone and half at Mon- 
tanara. The former of these places is on the bank of the large 
basin of water formed by the Mincio in that part of its course. 
This water thus almost surrounding Mantua is the main ele- 
ment of its great strength as a military position ; although it 
is further fortified by very extensive ramparts and earthworks 
to the south, and by an exceedingly strong citadel on the other 
side of the lake to the north. A line from Curtatone drawn 
southwards for a distance of two miles would touch Montanara. 
About twelve miles to the north-west, following the course of 
the Mincio, is the little town of Goito, in the neighborhood of 
which was the extreme right of the Piedmontese army, the ex- 
treme left extending to within eight miles of Verona. The 
long line thus occupied by the Piedmontese troops, from the 
neighborhood of Goito on the Mincio, to that of Verona far 
away to the north-east, completely intercepts the road from 
Mantua to Peschiera, a strong fortress at the foot of the Lago 
di Garda, in which an Austrian garrison was at that time be- 
sieged by, the Piedmontese troops. 

The position, then, and the state of the case, was thus : 

The Austrians were at Verona, eight miles to the eastward 
of the extreme left of the Piedmontese army. From Verona 
southward to Mantua, which they also held, the road was open 
to them. The Piedmontese line stretched between Verona and 
Peschiera, and came down in a south-western direction between 


182 THE HOUR BEFORE THE BATTLE.' 

Pescliiera and Mantua till its extreme left lay on the Mincio, 
near Goito. Across the way from Mantua to Goito, at a dis- 
tance of three miles from the former, lay the little Tuscan force. 
Two roads lead from Mantua in the direction of Goito. One 
passes close along the lake, through Curtatone, and the other 
two miles to the southward, through Montanara. 

Prom this statement it will be understood, that if it entered 
into Kadetzhj-’s head to draw a strong force from Verona to 
Mantua, and then attempt to take the Piedmontese army in 
flank at Goito, and, after defeating it there, before it could have 
time to concentrate itself, push on to relieve Peschiera, — in 
that case he would have to pass from Mantua to Goito exactly 
over the ground occupied by the Tuscans. Every hour lost in 
the march from Mantua to Goito, was so much time allowed 
the Piedmontese to concentrate their forces, and prepare to give 
battle at the latter place. 

Now, on the 28th of May, and in the night between that 
and the 29th, it became clear that this plan was exactly what 
had entered into General Padetzky’s head. The small matter 
which Italy asked of the little corps of Tuscan University vol- 
unteers, just as a trial stroke to show their mettle, was simply 
to stand in the way and stop it against the Austrian field-mar- 
shal and his veteran regiments, until the Piedmontese army 
should have time to prepare itself to receive him. 

The Austrian army under Padetzky, numbering between 
thirty and forty thousand men, and abundantly supplied with 
artillerj’-, was marching from Mantua to attack the extreme 
right of the Piedmontese. In their way was a force of four 
thousand eight hundred and sixty-seven Tuscans, half raw sol- 
diers, and half civilian volunteers. The Austrian field-mar- 
shal had only to walk over these, or kick them aside, to secure 
his object of fighting and conquering the Piedmontese at Goito, 
before they could have time to concentrate their troops, and 
then raising the siege of Peschiera. 

The Tuscan raw soldiers and University boys were of course, 
walked over and kicked out of the way. But, to Padetzky’s 
infinite astonishment — and, to do that grim old soldier justice, 
to his infinite admiration also, afterwards not grudgingly ex- 
pressed — this walking over and kicking aside took the Austrian 
army six hours to do ! The consequence was, that the Pied- 
montese army had the time needed for preparing to receive the 
enemy j that being thus prepared, it fought and won the battle 


THE HOUR BEFORE THE BATTLE. 


183 


of Goito on the following day ; and that the besieged Austrian 
garrison in Peschiera, seeing that the hope of relief had passed 
away, surrendered on the same daj^ ! 

Such is, in brief, the story of the nature of the forces en- 
gaged, of the locality, of the object in view, and of the result 
of the battles of Curtatone and Montanara, as history will have 
to record it, and as it was desirable that the reader should know 
it, for the better understanding of the part taken in the work 
of the day by those in whom we are here more specially inter- 
ested. 

Malatesta’s squadron,’^ as it has been explained that the 
sections are called into which the companies of an Italian reg- 
iment are divided, made part of the one thousand one hundred 
and six volunteers to whom, together with a body of one thou- 
sand three hundred and sixteen regular Tuscan troops, the 
defence of Curtatone was entrusted. Parallel to the road from 
Montanara to Curtatone runs a small stream called the Osone, 
w-hicli falls into the lake just behind the hamlet of Curtatone. 
Just at this point there is a mill, with an adjacent dwelling, 
which played an important part in the defence of the Tuscan 
position. In this building the Professor and his friends, with 
a few others had been quartered during the days of expecta- 
tion which preceded the fated 29th of May. Early on the 
morning of that day the whole state of the case, and the na- 
ture of the duty required of the Tuscan force, was perfectly 
w'ell known to, and understood by, every individual of the 
Corpo JJniversitario. It may be very true that a great army 
should be a machine, and an acting, not a thinking one. Yet, 
I take it, that each man of the three hundred at Thermopylae 
knew what he wanted ; and that if the individuals of the little 
Tuscan force at Montanara and Curtatone had not been equally 
aware of the object in view, they would not have held the Aus- 
trian army in check for six hours. 

A message from Montanara, saying that the head of the 
enemy’s column had been descried, warned the men at Curta- 
tone to prepare for action ; and those who had been quartered 
at the House of the Mill were about to hurry out, when the 
Professor, as if moved b^" a sudden impulse, cried, 

“ Stop, boys ! one minute ! I want to say a few words to 
you ! ” 

Some twenty gathered round him ; and there was not a smile 
on any one of their faces, though the Professor, in the charac- 


184 THE HOUR BEFORE THE BATTLE. 

ter of a military orator, might at any other time have provoked 
one. With his knapsack all awry, his cap pushed away to the 
back of his head, so as to show all his great square knotty fore- 
head, and brandishing his musket as if it were intended and 
carried for purely oratorical purposes, he said : 

‘‘ Just a minute ! Perhaps there is no man here who has so 
much cause for misgiving this day as I have. I am the cause 
of most — perhaps of all of you being here. It seems to me, 
therefore, that you have all of you but one life to give for Italy 
this da}’’, while I shall give a dozen or more ! And there are 
some among them very much more precious to me, and many 
more that are far more precious to our country, than mine. 
But they must all be given ! Have I done wrong in bringing 
you here to give away your lives ? Does any one of you wish 
you were this day in Pisa rather than here ?” 

Here he was answered, first by an indignant “ Che ! vi 
pare ! ” from Enrico ; and then by a chorus of denegatious 
from the rest of the group around him. 

Do you all feel in your inmost hearts,” he asked, speaking 
with the solemnity of a preacher rather than with the enthu- 
siasm of a soldier, “ that it is your wish, your ambition, to die 
this day for the sake of liberating Italy from the stranger, and 
preparing for her a future that shall not be as the past ? Let 
every one of you answer the truth !” 

This time Malatesta was the first to reply, ^‘That is my 
wish, and my determination, as God sees my heart ! ” said he, 
emphatically. And every one of the others, infected with 
the solemnity of the Professor’s manner, repeated the same 
words. 

“ Now,” said the Professor, in a lighter tone, “ we all under- 
stand each other ! Come along ! Let us remember that Italy 
is looking on us, and let us see who can knock over most white 
coats before he gets knocked over himself! ” 

“ One moment I ” exclaimed Malatesta ; “I, too, would wish 
to say a very few words. My friends, our dear Professor has 
told us what we have to do, and what for. We have to die for 
Italy. It would be absurd to suppose for a moment that we 
can hurl back this Austrian army, we, some four thousand to 
their forty, with skillful generals and plenty of artillery I The 
inevitable defeat which awaits us will be to all intents and 
purposes as good as a victory, if we can make it cost the 
Austrians a few hours of precious time. . The Professor has 


THE HOUR BEFORE THE BATTLE. 


185 


told ns that all Italy has its eyes on us. Ay ! and he might 
have said, the greatest part of Europe also! But in what 
mood do they look at us ? Some few with pity and compas- 
sion ; more with scoffing and derision, all with contempt 1 
Yes, friends, these are the sentiments with which Europe 
looks upon Tuscans 1 What ! a few hundred boys set about 
to stop an Austrian army ! — and those boys Tuscans ! Tus- 
cans of all people in the world 1 The absurdit}’’ would be pit- 
iable, if there were any chance of their getting into danger. 
But, fortunately, Tuscans don’t fight ! If they did, they would 
not be the slaves they are 1 This is wdiat Europe says, my 
friends ! ” 

ISTo ! no ! ” he continued, raising his out-turned hand in 
the attitude of imposing silence on the outburst of angry ex- 
clamations that broke from the little knot of his hearers. “ Not 
so ! Europe is right ! The nations have a right to regard 
Tuscans as weakest of the weak, most helpless of the helpless 
— cowardl3% spiritless, nerveless I That is what slavery means ! 
The blood spilt to-day shall be as the baptism of anew life for 
our Tuscan^" and Tuscans. Whatever measure of success we 
may obtain in the more immediate objects aimed at, this we 
shall in anj* case obtain, that never more will Italy and Europe 
sneer at Tuscan want of manhood ! Tuscans themselves will 
be aroused to a new sense of self-respect by jmur conduct here 
to-da3^ Ou^ friend the Professor has done well to point out 
clearl3’ the nature of the task before us. We go, man3^ of us, 
most of ns probabl3', to leave our lives ! Be ver3’- sure that, let 
the day end as it may, it will be one of those that will do its 
part towards the regeneration of Italy I Is there any one here 
who could spend his life to a better purpose ? So now come 
on, and let each man do his best ! ” 

Giulio went out as he spoke, to take his place at the parapet 
earthwork, which had been thrown up just outside the hamlet, 
with Enrico by his side. The boy had crept up to him while 
he had been speaking, as if to express his adherence to what 
he was saying, and side by side the3^ took their stand at the 
earthwork. The others followed, causing a momentar3' impe- 
diment at the doorway b3’’ their eagerness to rush to the scene 
of their dut3^ And it was during that moment of pause that 
Binaldo whispered to Francesca — ‘‘ Sta3’ back one instant after 
the rest. I have a word to sa3" — and it must be said now or 
never I 


186 


THE HOUR BEFORE THE BATTLE. 


Francesea seemed to hesitate whether she should grant the 
request or not. The loss of the moment which Finaldo had 
occupied in making it, had caused them both to be the last of 
the little crowd which was huiTjdng out of the door. 

“ I never asked as much before, Francesca ! But now I 

You will not condemn me to die "without having opened my 
heart to you ! ’’ 

Francesca at this appeal hung back, while the others pushed 
through the open door, leaving them alone together in the 
building. 

Thanks ! Francesca ; it is kind of you ! You heard the 
words of 3?our brother and of Malatesta ? ’’ 

“ Yes, Einaldo ! I listened to them both ! ” 

You know, then, what the next hours have in store for 
us ! You understand that what is spoken between us two here 
and now, is spoken as between those about to part to meet no 
more ! ” 

“ Not quite that ! I think that I do not underrate the 
danger ; though, in truth, I am wholly ignorant. But surely 
all will not perish. There will be a remnant, and we may be 
among the survivors.” 

I cannot trust to that chance, Francesca. Those are not 
the most likely to be among the survivors who have no wish to 
be so ! I would fain not carry my secret with me to the grave. 
Ma^' I speak it, Francesca ? ” 

“ If there is anjThing I ought to hear ” 

“ Francesca ! If there is anything ? Do you not know 
what it is I would tell you ? Have you not long known it ? ” 
Francesca at this point of the conversation sat down on a 
broad chest-seat or locker, which was the only piece of furni- 
ture remaining in the room. She had become suddenly very 
pale ; and the brown holland plaits in the front of her blouse 
were rising and falling in a manner generally' unknown to mas- 
culine garments. Her ej’es were cast down, and her fingers 
began to busy themselves nervously with the lock of her mus- 
ket, as those of girls more normally situated will in similar 
circumstances occupy themselves in picking a flower to pieces. 
Her lips moved a little ; but no audible sound came from them. 

^‘Francesca!” exclaimed he, stepping rapidly up to the 
spot where she had seated herself; “you viiist know that I 
love you — that I have long loved you — that I have watched 
with patience from day to day for some sign that should 


THE HOUR BEFORE THE BATTLE. 


187 


embolden me to tell you that my love for you has swallowed 
up all else in m3!’ life. But no sign came ! And I have never 
dared to make the offer of a love that I knew was not accept- 
able to you. But now! — now that I have nothing to ask save 
3^our kind thoughts for yet a few minutes, I could not go to 
death without telling you that my life has become burdensome 
to me, from the time that I perceived that I could not win 
your love ! ’’ 

Francesca was now visibly trembling so much that she could 
scarce!}’ hold the musket in her hands. She put it out of them 
on one side of her, leaning it against the locker on which she 
was sitting. Binaldo profited by the change in her position to 
seize the hand she had left idle. 

“ Francesca ! ” he cried, in a voice trembling with emotion, 
and in a tone of urgent entreaty. 

The hand he held in his was as cold as marble ; and he could 
feel her trembling, as she answered scarcely above her breath, 
and speaking as though the word were wrung from her against 
her will, like the utterance of one under the spell of magnet- 
ism : 

“ Binaldo ! ” 

Can 3mu say no word of comfort — of farewell to me, in 
this last hour, Francesca?” 

“ This is not the time, Binaldo, to speak of such things ! 
Our thoughts must be given to other matters.” 

Dio Grande f not the time ! I should not have dared to 
speak thus to you now, were it not the last time that we shall 
ever speak together.” 

Perhaps not so I ” 

“ Can you tell me at least, Francesca, that if you should 
survive this day, jmu will think kindly of my memory; — that 
when you remember, hereafter, that I told you with almost my 
last breath that since I first knew you, Francesca, you have 
been the loadstar of ray life, that the thought of you was no 
hour absent from ra}” heart, and that the life I give to Italy 
had become worthless to myself, because I failed to win yonr 
love 1 — can you at least sa}’, Francesca, that when you remem- 
ber this last confession, you will do so with kindly feeling 
towards one who, if he was unworthy of you, yet loved you 
well ? ” 

“ I shall never cease to think as kindly of you, Pinaldo, as 
you — as you have well deserved of me,” answered Francesca, 


188 


THE HOUR BEFORE THE BATTLE. 


in the same low tone, and speaking, as before, apparently with 
effort. It seemed as if she had been about to say soi?i^thing 
else, and that the latter clause of her words were substituted 
on second thoughts for some other expression of her feeling. 

Thanks, Francesca ! ” he said ; ‘‘ it is all tliat I can ask 
of you, and I shall die contented." But I have another matter 
to say to you, on which I can speak more boldly. It is to 
implore you not to throw away jmur life in the desperate strug- 
gle that awaits us.’’ 

‘^And I, too, can answer you on that point more boldly, 
Kinaldo ! ” said Francesca, speaking in quite a different tone, 
and no longer with any appearance of constraint or reserve. 
“ I joined the volunteers to share their labor and their lot. I 
will not put m}^ hand to the plough and look back.” 

“ You lieard what your brother said to all of us. I cannot 
feel with him that one of us could turn back from this field 
W’ithout dishonor ; and I know full well that no earthly con- 
sideration would induce him to do so. Your services will yet 
be needed in their proper sphere. There will be wounded to 
tend and care for. Do not throw away your life uselessly. I 
implore you, dear, dearest Francesca, do not come out to this 
deadly struggle. Go back hence, across the river, and by the 
other bank of it to Montanara, and put yourself under the care 
of the surgeon-in-chief, telling him the truth, and putting 
your services at his disposition. There you may be really of 
use. But do not unman me — us — all our friends, by the 

thought that we may see yoa from moment to moment 

Oh, God ! — I implore you, Francesca, not to expose yourself — 
us, rather — to this.” 

‘‘ It cannot be, Rinaldo ! I should never hold up my head 
again! No! Where you — where Pietro sets his life on this 
cast, there will I set mine. Once again, I will not put my 
hand to the plough and turn back ! And now it is time to join 
the rest. See ! ” she added, pointing to the window, they 
are hurrying up to the earthwork ; let us go !” 

‘‘ You will not relent ! ” he exclaimed, in a voice of great 
distress as they both moved together towards the door. 

‘‘ I cannot ! ” she answered. 

Then may God protect you, Francesca. 

“But, Binaldo ! ” She paused, and seemed to hesitate, 

and then went on rapidly: “Einaldo !” she said, looking into 
his face for an instant and then letting her eyes fall on the 


THE BATTLE. 


189 


ground, too, have a confession at this last moment to make 
— which, perhaps — God forgive me if I have been hard or 
proud to 3'ou ! — which, perhaps, I ought to have made before. 
There is j^et another reason why I wdll not give up sharing tliis 
day’s danger wdth you ! If you die, I — do not care to live ! ” 

Rinahlo seemed to himself to reel as from a blow as the 
words fell on his ears. He put out his hand to arrest her as 
she darted past him through the door the instant the words 
had passed her lips. She was already on the road in front of 
the mill, and hurrying across the open space tow^ards the earth- 
work. 

Rinaldo overtook her in three or four strides, and would have 
spoken to her, but a shout of “ Viva V Italia ! ” burst at 
tliat moment from the line drawn up behind the earthwork. 
Both their voices joined in it as they took their places in the 
ranks. 


CHAPTER YI. 

THE BATTLE. 

When the political Carnival of Italy, of which the battle 
of Curtatone was one of the incidents, had come to an end, 
and his Serene Highness the Grand-Duke had, like the rest 
of the high and might}’’ masquers engaged in that amusing 
frolic, been pleased to pull off his mask and have done fooling, 
Field-Marshal Radetzky, visiting Florence, found General de 
Laugier, his old enemy at Curtatone, minister of war in Tus- 
cany. Thus necessarily brought into communication with the 
Tuscan general, the Austrian veteran vras pleased to speak in 
very complimentary terras of the resistance offered to his arms 
by the Tuscan contingent on that occasion ; adding, how’ever, 
tliat it had been very fortunate for the little Tuscan force that 
he — Radetzky — had been wholly ignorant of the smallness of 
the numbers opposed to him ; for that it had been otheiwvise, 
not a man of them, he was so good as to say, w'ould have 
escaped. 

It was a deserved triumph on the part of the Tuscan general 


190 


THE BATTLE. 


and the ridiculously small force under his command, that their 
matchless audacity contributed to deceive tlie Austrians as to 
tlie number of the troops who ventured to stand and dispute 
the way witli them. A message sent by De Laugier to the 
Austrian general, intimating to him to la_y down his arms and 
consider his army prisoners of war, would have been simplj^ a 
piece of absurd impudence, had it not helped to confirm the 
enemy in their error. 

In consequence of this error, the Austrians proceeded with 
their usual cautious tactics, feeling their way against a foe 
which they could have crushed if they had only pushed onward 
with the weight of their numbers — have crushed as easily as 
the Juggernaut car crushes its victims. The first attack 
against the earthwork in front of the village of Curtatone was 
made by a regiment of Croats. The Tuscans had been in- 
structed to reserve their fire till the enemy, utterly ignorant 
of what they were going to find behind the earthwork, should 
have come all bukclose to it. There is, perhaps, no command 
more difficult to get obeyed by young soldiers than this of re- 
serving their fire. On this occasion the obedience was perfect, 
and the result proportionately efficacious. The lads under- 
stood why they were to reserve their fire, and they therefore 
did so. The Croats were within a couple of paces of the ram- 
part of earth, when a coolly-aimed and W'ell-directed volley 
flashed forth as if fired by a single hand. The blue-jacketed 
“ food for powder,” poor fellows, who had nothing to sustain 
them but habits of discipline and the fear of punishment, and 
who had little reason to care a straw how the day ended, so 
that it would only come to an end, hesitated, staggered, and 
fell back, leaving several dead and dying in front of the earth- 
work. 

Again and again the same attempt was repeated, and still 
the casualties on the side of the Italians were very few in com- 
parison with the loss of the enemy. But precious minutes, 
which were all that the Italians hoped to gain, were being won 
the while. Then, after an interval, a few pieces of cannon 
were brought to bear on the work, behind which that part of 
the Corpo JInwersitario which was at Curtatone were fighting, 
and it was breached in three or four places. Worse than this, 
however, was a want of ammunition, which, after some two 
liours’ fighting, began to make itself felt among the Italians. 
Much mischief was occasioned also by deficiencies which no 


THE BATTLE. 


191 


foresight or knowledge on the part of the volunteers could 
have remedied. Their one or two poor little guns, for in- 
stance, their ammunition wagons and ambulances, were 
drawn, not by troop-horses duly ridden and driven bj'- soldiers 
— for they possessed none such — but by post-horses and 
postilions, forced or lured by promise of high pay into the ser- 
vice. These men, as soon as they found themselves in a posi- 
tion of danger, went off with their horses, almost without ex- 
ception, leaving the vehicles entrusted to them wherever they 
chanced to be. 

A wagon, containing ammunition, had been left standing in 
the midst of the little piazza of the village, where it speedily 
became a target for the enernj^’s shells. It was necessary, 
however, to obtain the contents of the wagon so exposed. To 
render the task of doing so yet more hazardous, because 
longer than it would otherwise have been, the key of the 
chest was not forthcoming. It was necessary, therefore, to 
break it open ; and this operation had to be done while the 
Austrian artillery were not onlj^ sweeping with their fire the 
open space, which had to be crossed to reach the wagon, but 
were making the wagon itself the special object of their prac- 
tice. 

At the first demand of volunteers for this service, three 
lads had sprung forward to ofter themselves ; but though per- 
fectl}’ well fitted to take the ammunition from the chest, and 
transport it whither it was needed, no one of them looked at 
all as if he had such an arm as was required for the wielding 
of a huge smith’s hammer for the breaking open of the lock, 
and accomplishing that object with the least possible’ expendi- 
ture of time. 

“That will be a job for me !” cried Yarani, who, with the 
rest of our friends, was posted at that part of the earthwork 
which was nearest to the open esplanade and the wagon ; 
“ give me the hammer ! I can hit a hard blow.” Brandish- 
ing it as he seized it from the hand of one of the lads, he 
rushed with them and the officer sent in search of the ammu- 
nition across the open space. The little party had reached 
the wagon, and the Professor was in the act of mounting on 
it so as to get a fair blow at the lock of the chest, when a 
round shot from one of the enemy’s guns killed on the spot 
two of the young men who had accompanied him. 

“ A me ! Binaldo mio ! a me ! ” exclaimed Francesca, who 


192 


THE BATTLE. 


with many others was anxiously watching the success of the 
little forlorn hope — for such, in truth, it might well be called 
— as she sprung from the rank almost at the same instant that 
the two lads fell by the side of the ammunition wagon, and 
started to support her brotlier. 

The summons carried with it a thrill of exquisite delight to 
Kinaldo’s heart. For he knew well that, had those few words 
of delicious explanation not been spoken in the kitchen of the 
mill-liouse, Francesca would have called to her side any other 
of their comrades rather than him. And the “ Finaldo mio,^ 
though a manner of address common enough between friends, 
and often meaning nothing, meant much when addressed to 
‘him bj'^ Francesca. These were the thoughts that darted first 
through his brain, as he sprung out in answer to her call. The 
next were of the frightful risk to which she was about to ex- 
pose herself ; and he could not refrain from saying so as he 
reached her side : 

“ Let some one of the others undertake tl^ with me, Fran- 
cesca mia I he almost whispered, as he ventured to put a 
special emphasis on the last word ; “ for my sake, I implore 
you ! 

“ FTow or never we will be together ! replied Francesca, as 
she started to run across the esplanade. 

“ Now and ever, then ! Say it, Francesca ! Saj’’ it, while 
you live to say it, and I to hear it ! ” rejoined Finaldo, as they 
ran together side by side across the space "exposed to the ene- 
my’s fire. 

“Now and ever, amore mio ! said Francesca, as they 
arrived together at the side of the wagon. 

Pietro had at the same moment succeeded in smashing the 
lock of the ammunition chest, when, as the words passed 
Francesca’s lip, a shot struck the hinder wheel of the wagon 
on the farther side from the front, and caused it to upset and 
fall over on that side. The Professor, who was standing on 
the top of the chest, was precipitated on to tlie ground ; but 
regained his legs in an instant, and together with the officer 
proceeded to hand out the ammunition to the others. The 
operation was, in fact, not a little facilitated by the upsetting 
of the wagon. For, as it fell with its bottom towards the 
quarter from which the enemy was firing, it afforded some de- 
gree of protection to those who were engaged in getting out 
the ammunition, besides making it much easier to get at it. 


THE BATTLE. 


‘193 


Erancesca, Einaldo, and the survivor of the three who had 
originally accompanied Varani and the officer in search of the 
ammunition, loaded themselves with as much as thej^ could 
caiT}'', and got back with it in safety to the shelter of the 
earthwork. Some twenty or thirty of those wdio had been 
watching the success of the operation, as soon as thej’' saw the 
chest opened, and the wagon upset, rushed across with a cry 
of “ Viva V Italia ! and succeeded in conveying the whole 
of the contents to the lines. 

Then, and not till then, the ofiScer and Varani, who had been 
distributing the ammunition to the carriers of it, re-crossed the 
esplanade in safety. 

Up to this time, no one of the little party with whom the 
readers of these pages are most particularly concerned, had 
suffered any injury. But the casualties were becoming more 
and more numerous around them, and the earthwork, which 
has been so often mentioned, was becoming from minute to 
minute less tenable. In prospect of its being ultimately car- 
ried, it became desirable that an attempt should be made to 
liold the mill-house, as well as another isolated building, called 
the Casa del Lago, also on the immediate bank of the lake, 
but a liundred paces or so nearer to Mantua. 

There was but little difference, as far as experience or know- 
ledge of warfare went, between the civilian volunteers and the 
new soldiers of the Tuscan army ; and not very much more in 
point of discipline. Nevertheless, it was judged best that the 
more sheltered, though, perhaps, by no means less arduous, 
duty of defending these two posts should be entrusted to the 
former. A couple of squadrons, therefore, of the Florentine 
volunteers were placed in the Casa del Lago, and an equal 
number of the “ Corpo Universitario ” in the Casa del Mu- 
lino. Of these, one was that under the orders of Corporal 
Malatesta ; and thus the Professor and his friends, towards 
the latter part of the action, found themselves once again in 
the quarters they had quitted that morning. 

The orders given to the little band in the Casa del Midino 
were to hold the building to the last extremity. 

The village of Curtatone, and the buildings which have 
been mentioned, stand on ground a little elevated above the 
level of the lake, the banks of w'hich are in that neighbor- 
hood steep, though of no great height. Tho communications, 
therefore, between the village and the lake are steep lanes 
12 


194 


THE BATTLE. 


— in some cases so steep as to be more aptly termed stairs — 
sunk in the soil of the bank, in such sort that any one coming 
from the lake into the village would be hidden from those on 
either side of the lane or stair almost till he emerged into the 
village. Now, there was one- of these communications with 
the lake in immediate proximity with the Casa del Mulino. 
It was, however, too much sunk in the bank, in the manner 
which has been described, to be visible from any door or win- 
dow of that building, or from the banks on either side, unless 
by a person standing so immediately close to it as to be able 
to look down into the little cutting. There was, however, one 
point of the mill which commanded a view, not quite of the 
pathway itself, but of so much of the depth of the cutting 
that the head and shoulders of any one coming up from the 
lake could at once be seen from it. This point of view was an 
aperture in the upper story of the mill, immediately under the 
roof, and higher than any of the windows of the building, 
made for the purpose of receiving sacks of grain, and fur- 
nished with a little projecting platform on the outside,, for the 
landing of the sacks. From this aperture, and j^et more per- 
fectly^ from the projecting platform or stage, such a view of 
the sunken steep way or stair down to the lake, as has been 
described, could be obtained. 

For some time after the little force, to which the defence of 
the mill had been entrusted, had entered it, they were allowed 
to remain quietly, but, as tliey flattered tliemselves, vigilantly, 
in possession of the building. On taking up their position in 
the mill, they had supposed that an attack on it by" tlie enemy 
was imminent. As the minutes grew into the quarters of the 
hour, and the quarters crept on till they summed nearly an 
hour, and still no attack was made, they concluded either that 
the flght was still maintained at the earthwork in advance of 
the village, or that a struggle for the village itself, in the rear 
of which the mill is situated, was still kept up by the dimin- 
ished ranks of their comrades. 

It so happened that Enrico Palmieri, who was about as 
capable as a kitten of strictly conforming himself to orders 
which enjoined him to remain as a fixture at a certain spot for 
nearly an hour together, had made acquaintance, while quar- 
tered in the building, with the look-out place at the top of the 
mill which has been described, and took it into his head, after 
the party had been in suspense, vainly awaiting an attack for 


THE BATTLE. 


195 


nearly an hour, that it would he extremely desirable to get a 
peep at the general state of matters from that commanding point 
of view. No sooner had the idea entered into his head, than, 
quietly stealing away, without saying a word of his purpose to 
any one, he ran to put it into execution. The first thing tliat 
greeted him the instant he had opened the double doors which 
closed the aperture, and had cautiousl}’- advanced partly out 
on to the stage that projected in front of them, was a bullet, 
which struck the eaves immediately’’ above him. In the same 
instant, he had seen what induced him still more powerfully 
than the warning the bullet brought with it, to descend with 
all speed, and tell the result of his look-out to his companions. 

On the lake, close in under the bank, at the foot of the 
steep passage leading up from the water to the mill, in the 
act of shoving their boat to the shore, was a whole boat-load 
of Austrian soldiers. 

No second look was needed to make Enrico comprehend the 
whole extent and nature of the danger. Bounding down the 
garret stairs, without a thought of any need for excusing him- 
self for his own breach of orders, he rushed into the midst of 
his comrades below open-mouthed with the tidings of his dis- 
covery. In the next instant — the whole of the party in the 
mill were rushing out to oppose the ascent of the Austrians 
from the landing-place to the top of the bank. It was already 
too late to oppose the landing ; for at the moment that the 
volunteers reached the spot where the steep path from the 
winter’s edge opened on to the top of the bank, the foremost of 
the Austrians had already stepped on shore. 

Although the Austrian force in the boat was probably fully 
double the number of the Italians in the mill, and though 
they were old soldiers opposed to untrained boy^s, the enter- 
prise of preventing them from reaching the top of the bank 
was not so hopeless an one as it might at first sight appear. 
The bank was too high, too slippery, and too steep to be 
climbed, except by the sunken pathway, itself sufficiently 
steep, which had been cut in it. This steep path was very 
narrow ; sufficient at the utmost for three men to advance on 
it abreast; and was commanded by the top of the bank on 
either side of it. Had the volunteers only had time or cool- 
ness enough to concert their plan of operations, or discipline 
enough to have carried it out unfailingly^, when concerted, it 
is probable that they might have defied even a much larger 


196 


THE BATTLE. 


number of the enemy to gain a footing on the top of the 
bank. 

As it waSj they crowded pell-mell around the opening of the 
little gully, down which the path ran, each anxious to be fore- 
most, and eager only to get a blow or a shot at the enemy. 

The foremost of the Austrians were about half way up the 
path when the volunteers reached the top of it. And at the 
first shots exchanged in that position two Austrians fell, while 
their fire upwards took no effect on the volunteers. They 
gave back for an instant, and hesitated long enough to give 
the volunteers time to repeat the same operation a second 
time. This time, under their somewhat better directed fire, 
three Austrians were either killed or badly wounded. Now 
the attacking party had had their lesson ; and, instead of 
pausing, or attempting to return the fire of the Italians, they 
rushed onwards up the steep path. 

Another moment, and the struggle must become a hand to 
hand and bayonet to bayonet death grapple. Malatesta and 
Kinaldo were among those who stood immediately in front of 
the opening of the lane, and had fired straight down it in the 
face of the Austrians; and now, since the onward rush of the 
attacking party left them no time to load again, they stood 
wdth lowered bayonets expecting their onset. On one side of 
the pathway, about a couple of yards from the spot where it 
reached the level ground, and, therefore, allowing for the 
rapidity of the slope, some half yard or so above the spot in 
the path immediately beneath, stood the Professor, grasping 
the musket he had just discharged, by the muzzle, and bran- 
dishing the stock-end aloft in preparation for using it club- 
wise on the head of the first of the ascending party who 
should come wdthin reach of its flail-like swing. By his side, 
also, therefore, on the brink of the cutting by which the path 
ascended the bank, but more inland, and therefore a little less 
raised above the path immediately below him, was Enrico, 
panting through his distended nostrils, and glaring with eyes 
a-flame at the coming foe. He, too, had discharged his mus- 
ket ; and seeing that in the coming struggle it could serve 
him no longer, had drawn from it the bayonet, which he 
grasped in his hand, prepared to use it dagger-wise. He 
stood on the extreme edge of the cutting, craning over with 
the upraised weapon in his hand, and seemed to restrain him- 
self with difficulty from plunging down into the gully to meet 


THE BATTLE. 


197 


the attackers in their upward rush. On the opposite side of 
the gully, Francesca, with man}?- others, was standing on the 
very brink of the cutting. She, too, as well as several of 
those around her, had thrown aside their muskets, and armed 
themselves with the bayonet alone. 

The Austrians, on their side also, had to trust to the bayo- 
net only ; for they had had no time to re-load after firing their 
second volley before making their rush. They kept their bay- 
onets duly on their muskets, and held them in the position of 
charging. On they came, two foremost of the part3^ One of 
these two — that one on the side of the path which Francesca 
stood — was a man of more than ordinary stature, and of pro- 
portionate size and strength. The other, a smaller man, fell 
brained b}^ a sweeping blow from the butt of the Professor’s 
musket, as he reached the point in the path immediatelj^ below 
him. His huge comrade, availing himself of the advantage 
given him by his superior tallness, which placed him more 
nearly on a level with the volunteers on tlie edge of the bank 
above him, at the same moment adopting the Professor’s mode 
of using his musket, aimed a tremendous blow at the legs of 
those w’ho stood on the brink on his side. The sweep of the 
weapon came just about the height of their knees ; and, 
striking there the man who stood next to Francesca, brought 
him and her also, to the ground ; the first with his knee 
broken. Francesca, though thrown down by the tremendous 
sweep of the blow, which knocked the injured man against and 
over her, remained unhurt. 

At the same instant that the giant delivered his blow, and 
before he could recover his weapon, and just as the other man 
by his side had fallen beneath a similar blow from the Profes- 
sor’s musket, Enrico, unable longer to refrain, sprung ba^^onet 
in hand from the bank like a wild cat at the throat of the huge 
Austrian. The solder, still pressing onward and upward, as he 
recovered his musket with his right hand, caught the boy with 
a back-handed swing of his left arm almost before he reached 
the ground from his spring, and hurled him back down the 
gull}" on the bayonets of the men who were pressing on from 
behind. 

One of them entered his reins, and he fell beneath the feet 
of the soldiers with a shriek, which Varani to this daj' declares 
often rings in his ears ! 

As he saw him fall, the Professor, who had been standing by 


198 


THE BATTLE. 


his side, a pace nearer to the lake, and so much the higher, 
tlierefore, above the path below him, sprung in like manner 
from the bank into the midst of the ascending soldiers. For 
the moment, all thought of the object for which they were all 
there, of the necessity’’ of withstanding the progress of tlie 
attackers, faded from his mind, in the one headlong desire to 
save Enrico. Striking back the next advancing man with the 
butt-end of his musket, he cleared a space for a moment, and, 
utterly thoughtless of what might follow in the next, threw 
down his weapon, while he stooped to raise the prostrate boy 
in his arms, and form a rampart with his own body between 
him and the on-coming ranks below. In the next minute they 
would both have been bayoneted and trampled under foot by 
them. But, in that same next minute, the trampling came 
on them from the opposite direction. Eor just then a party of 
the volunteers from the neighboring Casa del Lago, having 
become aware of what was going on, came to support those 
who were at the mouth of the gully where tlie path from the 
lake reached the top of the bank. Thus reinforced, they rushed 
forward down into the gully ; and having the advantage of the 
steep descent in their favor, bore back the Austians to the 
water’s edge. 

The fresh comers from the Casa del Lago had their muskets 
loaded, and many of the Austrians fell beneath their fire at 
the landing-place at the bottom of the gull}*. The rest saved 
themselves by retreating to their boat, which a few strokes of 
the oar sent beneath the shelter of the bank out of reach of 
further fire. Some six or eight of the volunteers only had 
been wounded — two or three of them mortally — in their last 
struggle. Tlie rush of the attack and retreat had passed over 
Enrico and the Professor ; and when the melee at the water’s 
edge was over, and the volunteers turned to regain the bank, 
carrying their wounded up the steep path, they found Varaiii 
on the ground with a flesh wound from a bayonet in the 
shoulder, supporting in his arms the body of Enrico. 

“Dead!” cried Francesca, who, from having been over- 
thrown in the manner that has been described, had not been 
among the pursuers of the retreating Austrians to the water’s 
edge ; — “ not dead ! ” 

“No ; not dead ! ” returned the Professor ; “ but badly hurt, 
— desperately wounded I fear 1 ” 

Enrico ! ” said Francesca, throwing herself on her knees 


THE BATTLE. 


109 


by the side of her brother, and taking on her lap the wounded 
boy’s head in a manner and witli a tenderness that would have 
sufficed to betray the secret of her sex, had any one there been 
at leisure to take note of such matters — “ Enrico ! can you 
speak to me ? ” 

His cap had fallen off, and as his head, upturned and thrown 
backward in his agony, lay in her lap, the long locks of bright 
golden hair fell back from off his forehead, and the delicate 
features of the fair young face, so flushed and eager with ani- 
mation when last she had seen them a minute or two before, 
as he stood with upraised bayonet in his hand on the bank 
opposite to her, were lividly white, save where, like his hair, 
they were dabbled with blood ; — not from his own wound, 
but from that of Varani, which, though of slight consequence, 
was bleeding profusely. The ej^es were closed, and the long 
lashes, long and silken as a girl’s, lay dark on the pallid cheek. 
.The small delicately-made hands were close clenched, and 
the mouth firmly shut, as though the boyish pride was strug- 
gling hard to suppress the cries that his agony would have 
forced from him. He opened his eyes for a moment when 
Francesca spoke to him ; — for a moment long enough to give 
her offe upturned glance as her face bent over his, — a glance 
which Francesca has never forgotten, and will never forget ! 
And the firm set lips, unclosed quiveringly with a trembling 
sigh, that strove to articulate the syllables of her name, and 
then closed again, as his head fell back on her lap in the mer- 
ciful unconsciousness of a swoon. 

“ Kun for water, Pietro ! ” she cried. ‘‘ He is dying ! He 
is d3nng ! ” 

Pietro ran down to the lake along the trampled but now 
empty path. For the rest of the volunteers, returning from 
successfully beating off the Austrians, had passed on towards 
the village, carrying with them the wounded ; and Francesca, 
the Professor, and Enrico, were alone in the sunken lane. 
With some difficulty, for his wounded arm was becoming so 
painfully stifi* as to be nearly useless, the Professor, who had 
wholly forgotten his own wound, and would have been puzzled 
at the moment to tell why he could scarcely use his arm,' 
dipped up some water in his cap, and hurried back with it to; 
Francesca. 

She moistened the wounded boy’s lips and brow with it, 
and in a short time he returned to consciousness, and to suf- 
fering. 


200 


AFTER THE BATTLE. 


After a while they succeeded with much difficulty in raising 
him from the ground, and set about endeavoring to carry him 
the distance of only a few paces that separated them from the 
House of the Mill. It was not till then that Francesca, per- 
ceiving that her brother’s arm- was almost useless, and that he 
had the greatest difficulty in aiding her to carry Enrico, found 
out that he, too, w’as wounded. 

Why, you are wounded too, Pietro ! ” she cried ; and 
you never told me of it. What is it? ” 

In truth, Francesea, I had well-nigh forgotten it, and 
should have done so quite, were it not that it makes me nearly 
useless. But it is nothing; — a mere prick in the flesh. 
Would to God that I could exchange ray hurt with his, poor 
boy ! poor boy ! so young, so bright, so full of hope ! ” 

“But he will recover, Pietro ! Don’t look so at me, brother I 
Don’t, Pietro!” cried Francesca, struggling to stifle a rising 
sob ; “ but we must make haste to find assistance. See now, 
we can carry him so to the house ! You don’t think he wnll— > 
not get well again, Pietro ? ” 

The Professor only shook his head sadlj’’ ; and raising his 
hand to his face, made a great blur of blood across his ej^es as 
he brushed them with the back of it. 

So, slowly and painfully, thej^ carried him to the top of the 
bank, and thence a step or two more to the mill-house. They 
found the house empty, and no one either to oppose or to aid 
them ; for the battle of Curtatone was over. 


CHAPTER YII. 

AFTER THE BATTLE. 

The battles of Curtatone and Montanara w'ere over. Nearly 
half the little band of Tuscans were killed, or wounded, or 
prisoners ; and the rest were dispersed like chaff before the 
wind ; — before that mighty wind of a vast Austrian armjq 
wdiich was now careering onwards to the westward. The 
Austrian victories at Curtatone and Montanara were over. 
That memorable day, the 29th of May, 1848, was nearly over 
also; and the poor boys, over whose bodies the Austrian 


AFTER THE BATTLE. 


201 


legions tramped, had not given their 3'oung lives in vain. The 
Italian army had put those gallantlj” bought six hours to 
golden profit. By the time Radetzk}’- reached Goito, the Pied- 
montese generals were read}’’ to receive him. The battle of 
Goito was fought and won for the national cause, and the 
strong fortress of Peschiera fell. 

In Milan and Turin, in Venice, in Rome, in Florence, in 
Naples, and in a hundred other cities, there was a shout of 
rejoicing and of high hope. 

What was there in the House of the Mill by the Mincio on 
the battle-field of Curtatone ? 

A small fraction — an infinitesimal part of the great price of 
a nation’s redemption, was being paid down there ; — not 
unavailingly contributed towards making up the required 
sum ! 

It was but a few steps that Varani and his sister had to 
carry the wounded boy from the spot in the gully where he 
fell to the kitchen of the mill-house ; but it was not accom- 
plished without much difficulty, nor without causing much ad- 
ditional agony to the poor patient. He had fallen into a 
second swoon when they laid him on the stone floor of the 
kitchen. It was out of the question to think of carrying him 
up-stairs ; and there was no article of furniture in the kitchen, 
save a locker against one of the walls, which was far too nar- 
row for him to be placed on it. 

There were, however, one or two beds in the upper story ; 
and Francesca, leaving Enrico with the Professor, ran up, and 
hastily dragged the bedding of one of them down the stairs. 
Having placed him on this, arranged as best they might, upon 
the floor, they bound up the gaping wound in his back as well 
as they could ; and Francesca drew some fresh cold water 
from the well, and put it to his lips. The poor boy drank 
eagerly ; and as his head fell back on the pillow after the 
grateful draught, he smiled faintly, and gave Francesca, as 
she hung over him, a look of gratitude and affection, which, 
though it brought the tears to her eyes, encouraged her in the 
hope that his hurt might not be unto death. 

“ Now then, Pietro, you must run and try to find some one 
of the surgeons,” she said, “and make him come back with 
you. See ! he is looking better alread3% The water has re- 
freshed him. Do not lose an instant ! ” 

“But about leaving you here alone?” said the Professor, 


202 


AFTER THE BATTLE. 


doubtfully. ^^The Austrians are moving on towards Goito. 
I can hear the hum of the march from here.’^ 

“ The road must be nearly half a mile away on the other 
side of the village/’ answered Francesca. ‘‘ There is no chance 
of their coming here ! ” If there were, our first need is a 
surgeon at all hazards. 'Run, fratello mio ! ” 

“ If I do not return, jmu will understand, Francesca, that I 
have been caught and made prisoner. I would give much, 
too, to find Einaldo ; but he may be far hence by this time, 

or And, Francesca, give him the water from time to time 

— and look to see that the bleeding does not begin afresh — and 
be sure that I will lose no time ! ” 

So Francesca and her patient were left alone together in the 
solitary’’ and deserted house. 

It was very still. As Francesca knelt by the side of the 
mattress on the flagstones, the only other sound which reached 
her ear, besides the slight rustle of the pillow as the poor boy 
turned his head from side to side in the restlessness of pain, 
was the distant hum of the moving army, as it passed — one 
division of it, at least — along one of the two roads, which it 
had opened for itself to the westward. 

Francesca remained thus motionless by the bedside for half 
an hour or more, and Enrico seemed to have sunk into a sort 
of lethargy ; for it was yet nearer akin to death than sleep is. 
The anxious watcher strained her ear to catch the faint sound 
of his breathing to assure herself that it was not death itself. 
She was eagerlj" listening, also, for the step of her brother 
returning from his quest; but from the outside no sound came, 
save the distant murmur, continuous as the sound of a water- 
fall. 

At the end of that time Enrico opened his eyes, and Fran- 
cesca again put the water to his lips, and again he drank with 
avidit3\ 

The draught appeared to revive him a little. 

“Francesca!” he said, in a low quivering voice, “are we 
alone here ? Where are the others ? ” 

“Pietro is gone in search of a surgeon to cure 3’’our hurt, 
my poor Enrico ! Please God, he will soon return, and then 
3mu will get, I trust, some relief from 3mur pain.” 

“ And 3mu are all alone here to take care of me ! How good 
of 3’'ou, Francesca 1 But where are the others? ” 

“ Not far, I dare say ! They will probably return to the 
village when ther Austrians have all passed.” 


AFTER THE BATTLE. 


203 


“ Is the battle over, then, Francesca ? ” 

“Yes! Enrico mio I It is over! The Austrians are in 
full march towards Goito.” 

What time is it, Francesca ? ” 

“ Not far from the Ave Maria.’’ 

“ Then our point has been gained, eh, Francesca ? You re- 
member what Malatesta said, that if we could hold back the 
Austrians for a few hours, we should not give our lives in 
vain ! We did keep them back, didn’t we, Francesca?” 

“Dear Enrico! I think you ought not to talk so much. 
The Professor will return with the doctor presentl}^” 

“Francesca!” he said again, after the lapse of a few 
minutes, “ let me speak to you as long as I can ! The doctor 
can do me no good, Francesca ! I have given my life for 
Ital3^ Many of those, who have not had the chance, will 
envy me.” 

He let his head fall back on the pillow and remained silent, 
though restlessly turning his head from side to side, for about 
a quarter of an hour. 

“ May I have another drink of w^ater, dear Francesca ? ” he 
said, at the end of that time. 

She put the cup to his lips, and again he took a long and 
eager draught. 

“ Dearest Francesca ! ” he said, a minute afterwards, “ do 
not forbid me to speak to you ! I have but a little time more 
to speak in ! For, Francesca dear, I feel that 1 am getting 
weaker. I feel that the life is going out of me ! ” 

“ Oh ! Enrico ! Enrico ! And 1113’’ brother does not come ! 
What shall I do ? What shall I do ? ” 

“ Do not grieve so, good, kind Francesca ! Believe me, the 
doctor could do me no good. I am in less pain now ; but I 
feel that I am dying. Francesca,” he added, after a pause, 
“ do you know — I am glad — so glad that we are alone togeth- 
er. For I want very much — if I ma}’, dear Francesca, to 

speak to you for your ear alone, before I die. May I, 

Francesca ? ” 

“May you, Enrico dear!” returned Francesca, who was 
now struggling with her sobs ; “ speak freely anything and ail 
that is in your heart to speak ! ” 

“ Will you take my hand in yours, Francesca, while I am 
speaking to you. I seem to see less clearl}^, and it is getting 
dark.” 


204 


AFTER THE BATTLE. 


She took his hand and held it, as she knelt by the side of 
the mattress, in both hers. 

‘‘I have been thinking a long time since I have been lying 
here, Francesca, whether I ought to say what I am going to 
say, or not. Certainly I should never have said it if I had 
been going to live. Do you know, Francesca, that for ever so 
long I have dared to love you with all my heart and all my 
strength ; — to love you, Francesca, not as you love me, but — 
but as — as Einaldo loves you ! But when I found out that 
Einaldo loved you, Francesca, then I knew that his was a love 
more worthy of 3’^ou than mine, and I determined — I deter- 
mined never to tell you, Francesca, and never to tell Einaldo, 
and to cure mj'self of my love. But I could not ! And now 
I need not strive any more to do so ! You see I have reason 
to be contented to die.’’ 

He closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the pillow 
as he spoke the last words ; and Francesca for a moment feared 
that all was already over. After a moment the fever flush, 
which had succeeded to the livid pallor in the first instance 
caused by the wound, returned to his cheeks. 

Was the communication which had just been made to her 
b}’’ the d}flng boy, a surprise to Francesca ? She had seen 
plainl}’’ enough the bo^’^’s feelings towards her ; and regarded 
them as girls of twenty are apt to regard the love-homage of 
boys of sixteen ; — as a little malady incident to puppyhood, 
not at all dangerous, very little painful — -just sufficiently so to 
cause a certain degree of sympathy’ for the sufferer, and inter- 
est in watching the progress of his malady to its natural ter- 
mination in perfect recovery and robuster health than before. 

“ You will believe, Francesca dear,” he resumed, after a few 
minutes, while her tears fell hot and fast upon the hand she 
still held between her own — “ you will believe me that I should 
not have told y^ou this had I been going to live. Give me a 
drop more water, dear ! — thanks ! — And give me y’our hand 
again, Francesca ; I can say what I want to say’ better so ! I 
wanted to tell you, Francesca; how Einaldo loves you ! And 
oh, Francesca ! it is a love that deserves a return ! He has 
such a noble heart ! I should die so happy if I could think 
that you two understood each other, and would make the hap- 
piness of each other! Does ymur heart say nothing to you in 
his favor, Francesca ? ” 

‘‘ It has said much, my dear, dearest brother said Fran- 


AFTER THE BATTLE, 


205 


cesca, laying a special emphasis on the word ; “ Einaldo knows 
that I love him ; — that I am his ! ’’ 

“Francesca! mi pare impossibile ! ^ Einaldo said to me 
nothing of his happiness ! ’* 

“ He has had no opportunity of doing so, my Enrico I He 
w'as like you. Only the prospect of death forced his secret 
from him. It was only this morning that he told me he loved 
me, when we were going out to the battle, with little expecta- 
tion of surviving it ! ” • 

“ And then you owned that 3 mu loved him ! 0 hravi ! To 

think that there should be people who need such a moment 
before the}" can confess that they love each other ! So our 
battle has been good for something else besides keeping back 
the Austrians for a day I 

“ And you too, my dearest brother ! Did you ever tell me 
that you loved me till you supposed — I trust in God most er- 
roneously — that your life was nearly over? ’’ 

“ My love, Francesca ! but that was so different. Einaldo 
has a right to pretend to any woman’s love.” 

“Would to God that my brother would return! If only 
we could get the surgeon ! ” 

“ Trust me, Francesca dear, it would be of no use ! But 
I should like to see the Signor Professore again before I die, to 
thank him for all his goodness to me. You will tell him, 
Francesca, that I thought of him ! ” 

He lay silent for some time after this ; and Francesca, as 
she anxiously watched him, could not avoid seeing symptoms 
that warned her of the truth of his own presentiments. The 
breath came shorter and with greater difficulty ; and cold drops 
of perspiration gathered on his brow, the fair white expanse of 
which was fading to a greyish ashy tint, that even to Fran- 
cesca’s inexperienced eyes was ominous of the coming change. 

After some time, during which Francesca had remained 
kneeling on the flags by the bedside, painfully listening in the 
dead silence and the now rapidly increasing darkness to the 
dying boy’s labored breathing, and striving to catch the 
hoped-for sound of her brother’s footsteps, Enrico, after turning 
his head restlessly once or twice on the pillow, raised the 
heavy eyelids from his glazing eyes, and said : 

“ There is only one thing, Francesca mia, that makes me 
unhappy ! I am contented — happy to die for the cause of Italy ; 
o “It seems to me Impossible.” 


206 


AFTER THE BATTLE. 


but this wound ! — I wish, I wish, sister dear, that it was in 
front! It will perhaps be thought — that — that I was turning 
niy back on the Austrians! But I was not! It is an ugly 
thing — a wound behind ! ” 

“ Trust me, my brother, that all Tuscany shall know that 
no wound endured this day was more gallantly received than 
yours ! 

“ Thanks, Erancesca 1 Tell Einaldo that I leave it to him 
to do justice to me on this point. He knows that I was at- 
tacking, and not giving way, when I got this ugly poke in 
the back ! 

He fell back on the pillow once more, exhausted and pant- 

Again, after a while, he spoke with obviously increased 
difficulty. 

“ One thing more, Francesca ! Will you kiss me, Francesca, 
before I die ? ” 

“ own Enrico ! my child ! my dear, dear boy ! ” cried 
Francesca, as with the tears streaming from her eyes she took 
his head in her arms, and again and again kissed his cheeks 
and his forehead ; “ oh, Enrico, Enrico ! iSTo help ! No help 1 

Again there was a long silence ! It was now quite dark ; 
and Francesca did not know where to find the means of ob- 
taining a light, even if she could have left the bedside of the 
now evidently dying boy. Notliing broke the deadly silence 
save his panting ; and once, the clang of the bell from the 
clock tower of the neighboring village. 

Presently, Francesca felt the hand which she was still hold- 
ing in hers tighten its grasp on hers ; and he said with low 
words, sighed out one by one, 

“ Dirai — dunque — alia — mamma — perchd — la — mia — ferita 
—non — era — davanti ! ” * 

Then again, after a while : 

Addio / Francesca, — Francesca mia / — and — Francesca ! 
— Ffm I’ Italia!’^ 

Those were his last words I — as they were the last of many 
a young life that day 1 ’’ 

O "You will tell mamma, then, how it was that my wound was not in the front.” 


"THE KETURN. 


2or 


/ 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE RETURN. 

Gradually Ccime to Francesca’s mind the certainty that 
the living and loving spirit had escaped ; and that she was 
kneeling beside a dead thing of refuse clay — a form dear still 
and awful yet a little while ! It was the first time that she 
had ever stood face to face with death. 

The minutes slowly succeeded each other in long sequence. 
The dreadful silence seemed as if it pressed upon her with an 
ever-increasing weight. She ventured to press the hand she 
was still holding, — the hand so sensitive but a few minutes 
ago to each touch of hers. No answering pressure came ! 
Then a sudden overmastering rush of fear forced from her a 
shrieking call, Enrico ! Enrico ! ” Neither sound nor move- 
ment answered her. Still it seemed to her that Death was 
too great a thing to have entered there so secretly and unan- 
nouiiced ! Did the King of Terrors walk abroad with so little 
state ? 

Just as that cry of agonised misgiving, Enrico ! Enrico ! ” 
had escaped from her, — to which no answer had come from 
sound or from movement, — an answer came from the evidence 
of another sense. Just then, sailing on her way high in the 
heavens, the punctual unconscious moon looked through the 
bars and laid a cold serene kiss on the dead boy’s forehead. 

Then Francesca knew the truth. The features of the fair 
jmung face looked handsomer in outline than they had done 
even in life. The lips were rigid, the open eye was meaning- 
less ; and it was as if an ashy veil was drawn between the 
face and the eye which looked on it. The expression of the 
features was stern and defiant. For that last cry of “ Viua 
V Italia which were the last words that had passed his lips, 
was the expression of the last thought that had lived in his 
brain ; and the impress of it had been fixed on the features 
that were never more to express any other. 

The serene, careless moonbeam told all to Francesca’s single 
glance. 

She let the slender dead hand, so ghastly wdiite in the 
moonlight, fall from hers, and started backwards from the 


208 


THE RETURN. 


bedside with a suppressed cry. It was the first time that she 
had ever felt the icy shock of his touch. 

In the next instant moral sentiment overpowered physical 
sensation. She threw herself forward on the bed, and clasp- 
ing the pale forehead to her bosom, burst into a tempest of 
sobs that seemed to shake her frame to its centre. 

When the violence of this paroxysm had exhausted itself, 
she remained crouched by the side of the mattress on the flag- 
stones, gazing abstractedly at the motionless face so white be- 
neath the moonbeam, while her mind, half stunned by tlie 
shock it had encountered, was striving with a sort of dreamy 
uncertainty to revive the events and thoughts of the past 
day. It all seemed to her like the story of a long past time I 
It was but this morning, she told herself, but a few hours 
ago, that iny brother was speaking to us all in this room, and 
when he asked if any there would yet turn from the danger 
before them, and save their lives, he interrupted him ! — the 
first to scorn the thought ! “ What ! can you dream of it ? 

cried the boyish voice, and the color flushed up in his delicate 
cheek, and liis eye flashed ! 

As the thought passed through her mind, she pointed with 
her open hand to the face that would flush no more, and shook 
her head slowlj^ while the tears burst afresh from her ej'-es. 

Then came the thought of those last minutes at the door, 
before she and Rinaldo went out to take their places at the 
earthwork. They had been but a couple of minutes there at 
the utmost ! Yet they seemed to her to belong to the history 
of some long past phase of her existence ! 

From dwelling on what had passed between her and Final- 
do, her mind naturally recurred to the feelings in connection 
with that subject which had so deeply stirred — but a few 
minutes ago — the brave and lo3’al heart now still for ever ! 
The words still rang in her ears, “ I strove to cure m^’self of 
my love for you, Francesca ! But I could not do it ! I could 
not do it! And so it is best that I should die ! ’’ The noble, 
generous heart ! How many minutes since the living blood 
mantled in the white cheek there, as he told his^ guarded 
secret 1 Will you kiss me, Francesca, before I die ? he 
said. 

She had a somewhat vague idea that it behoved her to per- 
form certain services to the dead, the only duty of which she 
was aware specifically, was that of closing the eyes. She 


THE RETURN. 


209 


found it difficult to make up her mind to do this. It seemed 
to her like an act of ratification and consent to death’s deed — 
as if by that act of her own she w’ould be accepting and ad- 
mitting it as irrevocable. It was as a rolling of the stone to 
the door of the sepulchre, and giving a finality to the great 
separation w'hich had taken place. 

They had been such true-hearted, honest eyes, so beaming 
with affection ! so full of mirth, intelligence, and archness ! 
tender, merry, bold, pensive eyes by turns. Now to be shut 
by her hand for ever and ever ! And as she kneeled and 
gazed, and let her mind sink into a sort of numbed reverie, a 
strong disinclination, almost a fear of moving and breaking 
the deep silence, came over her. The moon had now begun 
to go down, and was causing the reflection of the bars of the 
grating before the window to move upwards across the face 
of the dead in strongly marked black bands. The dark 
shadows as they passed over the white features seemed to im- 
part to them a strange and changing expression, which riveted 
her attention against her will, and fascinated her gaze. Now 
an object interposed between the moonbeam and the window 
threw all the dead face into shadow. The effect excited Fran- 
cesca’s imagination too strongly for her to be able at first to 
divert her attention to the cause of it. But presently the 
shadow -which obscured the moonlight took the form of a 
colossal silhouette on the wall above the bed-head. 

She turned to the window, without rising from her knees, 
and seeing that the man was evidently engaged in taking note 
of the occupants of the kitchen, made a gesture of vehement 
entreaty that he w^ould come to her. 

Chi vive ? ” demanded a voice from the window, in answer 
to her beckoning. 

Viva V Italia! ” replied Francesca, in a voice restrained by 
a kind of fear that such a cry might disturb the repose of the 
dead. 

“ Comrade, I will be with you in a moment.” 

In as short time as could suffice for clambering down from 
the roof of the outhouse, the door of the kitchen was opened, 
and a man, dressed like a Lombard peasant, stood on the floor 
in the moonlight. 

“ Fine times these are !” he said, pausing, as he spoke, near 
the door, still apparently in some doubt whether he should 
venture to advance into the room, “ when a man is fain to ex- 
13 


210 


THE RETURN. 


amine his own house on the sly through the window before he 
dares to enter it ! ” 

Are you the master of the house, Signore ; you are the 
miller, then ? ” 

“ If you tried a hundred times you could not come nearer to 
the mark ! I am Domenico Vanni, the miller of Curtatone, at 
your service. And, considering the sort of times we are living 
in, perhaps you would not hold it to be an unpardonable breach 
of good manners if I were to ask who you are?” said the 
miller, still standing near the open door, and hesitating appar- 
ently to advance till he was better assured of the character of 
the occupants of his dwelling. 

‘‘ We are volunteers belonging to the Corpo Unlversitario of 
the Tuscan contingent — that is to say, I am” added Frances- 
ca, as a pang shot through her heart at the thought evoked by 
her use of the plural pronoun. 

Yes, 3’'ou are Tuscan, and no mistake, by your talk ! But 
who is jmur comrade, then ? ” 

“ He was a member of the same corps ! ” 

Was / poor lad ! There are but too many of them. Are 
you sure that there is nobody else in the house ? ” 

Then Francesca explained how the}’" had brought the wound- 
ed volunteer from the scene of the fight in the gully to the 
quarters they had occupied before the battle ; how one of their 
companions had gone in search of a surgeon, and had never re- 
turned ; and how no surgeon was any more needed ! 

Ahi!” exclaimed the miller, shrugging his shoulders; 
never returned with the surgeon ! I should think not ! That’s 
what war means ! Why, your friend gqt caught by the ene- 
my ; of course he did. They hold possession of the village 
now ! There’s parties of them prowling about in all directions. 
So the poor lad yonder died before any help could come to 
him ! Mayhap he would have died all the same if he had had 
all the doctors in Padua ! Whj", Heaven bless us ! he is but 
a boy — a mere child!” cried Domenico Yanni, as, having at 
length advanced into the room, and found the means of light- 
ing a lamp which had been left on the kitchen hearth, he stood 
at the foot of the mattress, and looked down upon Enrico’s 
face — ‘‘ a mere child ! ” he went on, shaking his head sadl3^i 
Why, what can they be thinking of in Tuscany to send such' 
as that poor boy to fight the Austrians I Halloa ! who are! 
you ? And where do you come from ? Though, for the matter] 
of that, one may partly see where you last came from.” 


THE RETURN. 


211 


The iiiterrnption was caused by, and the miller’s interpella- 
tion was thus addressed to, a man who had rushed in at the 
still open door, and on seeing the miller standing and looking 
down on the bed, while Francesca, who had raised herself from 
her kneeling position, stood at the- bed-head, and gazed also 
tearfully down at the form that lay on it, stopped short in the 
middle of the floor. The latter words of the miller had refer- 
ence to the plight in which the new comer’s dress was. As he 
stood on the flagged floor of the kitchen a small pool of water 
began to accumulate round him from the draining of his gar- 
ments. He liad evidentl}^ very recently come from beneath 
the surface either of the lake or of the little stream of the 
Osone. He had no cap or other covering on his head, and 
there were long clinging stems and leaves of water-plants, and 
plent}" of mud, hanging about his clothes. 

“Good Heavens! Pietro!” exclaimed Francesca, for the 
dripping new comer was no other than the Professor, “ where 
have you been, and what has happened to you ? I waited for 

you so anxiously ! But ” She pointed with her hand to 

the body of Enrico, and shook her head sadly, as a great sob, 
despite her efforts to suppress it, stopped her utterance. 

“What has happened to you, Pietro; and what kept you 
away so long ? ” said Francesca. 

“ I could find no help near,” said Pietro; “ and in endeav- 
oring to make my way to Montanara, I was made prisoner by 
a party of the enemy.” 

“ Of course you were ! ” said the miller. 

“ The party who captured me had taken several other prison- 
ers,” continued the Professor, “ and as they were bringing us 
along towards Montanara in the dark before the moon rose, 
I managed to make a bolt, and avoided being caught again by 
throwing myself into the little river here behind, and remained 
wdth only my head out of water under the bank till they gave 
it up. Thej" did not search very long ; and I suppose one poor 
devil of a volunteer prisoner, more or less, does not make much 
difference to them.” 

“You see, Pietro!” said Francesca, waving her hand 
mournfully towards the mattress on the floor. 

“ But as for the doctor, Francesca,” continued her brother, 
forgetting for the second time to substitute the masculine for 
the feminine termination of her name, “ there is no need to 
grieve over that. I was very sure that it was a hopeless 
case ! ” 


212 


THE RETDi^i., 


“ Ah ! poor lad ! That’s what I said to this — what did you 
say was the name of this Signorino, Signor Pietro ? ” said tlie 
miller, with that quickness to catch and address a new acquain- 
tance by his name, which -is a characteristic of Italian man- 
ners. For he had not failed to notice Pietro’s address to his 
sister. 

‘‘ Francesco Yarani, my cousin. I am Pietro Varani, Pro- 
fessor in the University of Pisa, at your service. Signore — both 
of us volunteers in the Corpo Universitario’^ answered Pietro. 

‘‘ Oh ! because you called the young gentleman Francesca ! 
Not that I have any wish to pry into secrets.” 

“ A'cco, Pietro ! ” interrupted Francesca. “This is Signor 
Domenico Yanni, the miller of Curtatone, and this is his house. 
Since you have called me by my own name, it will be best to 
tell the truth. I am the Professor’s sister, Signor Domenico ! 
when all my friends at Pisa were enrolling themselves for this 
war, I, like a headstrong girl, insisted on going with them. 
That’s all ! and I do not repent of what I have done ! The 
poor boy who lies there. Signor Domenico, was my brother’s 
pupil, and very dear to both of us. Among all vvdio have given 
their lives for Italy in this battle, there is not one ” — and there 
were tears in her voice as she said the words — “ not one who 
more gallantly did his part, or more gloriously gave his life, 
than that poor boy, Enrico Palmieri, Signor Yanni ! He was 
not sixteen ! ” 

“Poor little fellow!” said the miller, looking down with 
sympathy on the young face — “ poor boy ! — And what are you 
going to do now. Signor Professor? The night is getting on ; 
and I need hardly tell you, that if you are. here at daybreak, 

you and the young jmu and your cousin, that is, will very 

soon find yourselves in a prison inside Mantua.” 

“ That would be bad for m}^ sister,” said Pietro ; “ but what 
can be done ? ” 

“ Why, I should sajq not stay here 1 ” returned Yanni, 
“ though it sounds inhospitable in me to tell you so I I should 
say, pass the Osone, avoid Montauara, get across the fields to 
Crosette in the dark, then make for the Oglio. If you can 
cross the river at the bridge of Gozzuolo, yon are safe, and will 
fall in with plenty of your friends. But your only chance is 
to try it while the darkness lasts. The moon is almost down.” 

“ If we could only find our way across the country 1 ” said 
;the Professor, doubtfully. 


THE RETURN. 213 

But for hini ! ” said Francesca ; 1 cannot leave him so ! 

Pietro miO; I cannot do it ! ” 

“ But, per Dio / car a mia Signora, you will have to leave 
him at daybreak ! You don’t fancy those Austrian animals 
will leave you to bury your dead ! If you are here at break 
of day, off you go to Mantua; and it is little they’ll care what 
becomes of the dead ! ” 

It is, as Signor Yanni says,” returned the Professor. 
^‘Even if we took no care for ourselves, we could accomplish 
nothing for him ! ” 

“ But to leave him so ! What — what shall I say to — his 
mother ! ” 

Ecco ! ” said the kindly miller ; I’ll do as I would be 
done by ! leave his poor body to me. I promise jmu it shall 
have Christian burial. I will do for him as I would for my 
own son. He shall lie in the Campo Santo of Curtatone ; 
and when any of his friends come to see where he has been 
laid, they shall find a decent cross on the spot, with his name, 
poor boy ! Enrico Palmieri, you said. I will have it put 
over his grave : ‘ Enrico Palmieri, died for Italy at Curtatone, 
in his sixteenth year ! ’ ” 

Thanks, friend ! for the good deed ! ” said the Professor. 
“There are people in Tuscany who will not forget the name 
of Domenico Vanni ! ” 

“ You shall have the gratitude and the blessings of a 
mother. Signor Vanni, and — and — ” But her lip quivered, 
and she turned away her face, unable to complete her sen- 
tence, putting out her hand, however, to the good miller, and 
exchanging with him a kindly grasp as she did so. 

“ And now,” said he, “ since we have made friends, I must 
first see what can be done to help you. You would hardly 
find your way across the country, even if you knew' the direc- 
tion ; for it is all intersected with canals and streams. If you 
follow the road, the chances are you will fall in with some 
patrol of the Austrians, and be taken prisoners. I suppose I 
must go wdth you as far as Crosette myself.” 

“ It would be a very great kindness,” said the Professor, 
simply. “ I know’’ not how we can thank you for such an 
offer.” 

“ What are you here for ? Are ^’’ou not here to do me a 
much greater service ; me, and everybody else, per Bacco, if 
3 'ou can only rid us of these dogs of Austrians ! Let’s be go- 
ing ! There is no time to lose ! ” 


214 


THE RETURN. 


Must we leave him — so — all alone ? said Francesca, tear- 
fully. 

What else is to he done ? Trust to me to do all that you 
would have done ! ’’ 

“ Signor Vanni says well", Francesca ! Besides we have no 
choice ! Let us go 1 ” 

Francesca threw herself on her knees on the spot by the 
side of the mattress, where she had been kneeling through so 
long a portion of the night, and, taking a pair of scissors 
from her knapsack, cut olf a long lock of the bright curly 
hair, and then, rising to her feet, took a last long look at the 
innocent young face, which she could fancy had already set- 
tled into a deeper calm than that which seemed to sit on it 
immediatel}’- after death. 

Then she said, ‘‘ I am ready, Pietro ! ” and, striving to 
suppress the sobs which would struggle up from the heart to 
the lips, she followed her brother and Domenico Vanni into 
the fresh air of the approaching dawn. 

Thanks to the good miller’s perfect knowledge of the coun- 
try, they arrived by paths across the fields, which no stranger 
could have found, especially by night, in perfect safety at 
Crosette, without having encountered a living soul indeed by 
the way, though so much life was stirring at no great distance 
from them. 

There the miller left them, again assuring them that his 
first care on his return should be to see to the trust which he 
had undertaken. 

You will have no difficulty now,” he added, “in finding 
your way to the Oglio, and you ought to reach it about sun- 
rise. Addio, Signor Professore ! Addio, Signor Francesco ! 
Mayhap I may some day talk over this night’s work with a 
certain Signorina Varani. Perhaps I may never get the chance 
of doing so. Anyway, I will write to Pisa.” 

So they parted. 

The two fugitives reached the village of Gazzuolo, on the 
Oglio, safely, crossed that river by the bridge there, and 
thence made their way in greater security to Viadana, on the 
Po, where many of the dispersed and wounded of the volun- 
teers had assembled, and where every kindness and attention 
was shown them by the authorities and by the inhabitants. 
Subsequently they reached Brescia, where the Corpo JInivcr- 
sitario was finally broken up. 


THE RETURN. 


215 


There, also, they found Einaldo, and were able, for the first 
time, to go over the melancholy roll-call of the sad remnant 
of their little band. Very many less than half the number 
of those who had so gaily marched out from Pisa were there. 
It was impossible as yet to know with any accurac}^ how many 
had fallen on the field, how many were in the Mantuan dun- 
geons, and how many were l.ying badlj'’ wounded in the houses 
of private citizens, who had hospitably received them. 

At Brescia, too, the Professor received the following letter 
from Malatesta : 

Turin, July, 1848. 

Dearest Priend, — 

“ You will of course have learned from our friend Einaldo 
the circumstances under which I received and obeyed a sum- 
mons hither. The affair of the repulse of the attempted land- 
ing by the Austrians from the lake close to the mill seems to 
have been considered more important, and to have attracted 
greater attention, than it would ever have occurred to any one 
of us to attribute to it. It will ever be memorable to us on 
other grounds. The rush down the gully, which finally crip- 
pled and drove off the Austrian attack, and in which 1 hap- 
pened to be foremost, and may be said to have led the men 
inerel}'’ because I was foremost, was most generously reported 
to the Piedmontese chiefs by the officer who led the little 
body that joined us from the Casa del Lago, and who, as it 
happens, is a Piedmontese well known in their service, — in 
our service, that is to say ; for, in truth, therein lies the main 
purport of this letter. His Majesty has been pleased to .offer 
me a commission in the Piedmontese army ; and it has been 
intimated to me in the most flattering terms, that a captain’s 
commission was to be the reward for the service, which they 
are pleased to think I rendered at Curtatone, and that I 
should pass the inferior grades merely as a matter of form. 
Meanwhile, be very sure that I have in no degree lost sight 
of the great object of which we talked just before leaving 
Pisa. I still hold the discovery of my cruelly wronged and 
unfortunate mother to be the most sacred object of my life. 
It is impossible for me at present to be absent from Turin. 
But I doubt not before long, probably before the close of the 
3 'ear, or in the early spring, to be able to obtain a short leave 
of absence, when I shall at once go to Bologna. Before that, 
we shall have exchanged letters more than once, I hope. Saj^ 


216 


THE RETURN. 


for me all I would say to — alas ! that I should have to write 
it — to the survivors of our expedition. Make them under- 
stand how thoroughly I feel that the brilliant gallantry of 
each and all of them — of those who fell that day for Italy, as 
well as of those who still live for her — contributed fully as 
much as anything I could do to the result which has made my 
success. 

Believe me, my dear Professor, 

Always your attached and affectionate friend, 

“ Giulio Malatesta.’’ 

Very shortly after the receipt of this letter the little party 
of three, the Professor, Prancesca, and Rinaldo — were on their 
way back to Pisa. Very many of the volunteers, who were 
wholly unprovided with means, had to be passed on their 
homeward route from commune to commune, till they once 
again reached their homes. With Varani and his friends 
matters were somewhat better ; and their return journey was 
accomplished more quickly, and with somewhat greater com- 
fort. 

The meeting of Prancesca and Rinaldo after their separa- 
tion on the scene of the struggle at the landing-place, in the 
manner which has been described, was niarked by a singular 
mixture and conflict of feelings. They met with the con- 
sciousness of a great and mutual sorrow overshadowing the heart 
of either of them, a sorrow which had to be sharecl between 
them, and, the bitterness of which had to be tasted together. 
Yet the meeting was happiness, such as neither of them had 
ever before known. It seemed as if the bringing together of 
two sorrows had, by some mysterious moral chemistry, made 
^ ^^ot without a certain amount of compunction 

and self accusation that they admitted to themselves the unde- 
niable fact that they were happy. When Francesca recounted 
to Rinaldo every detail of the story of that last sad night in 
the kitchen of the mill — when, with blushes, reticences, and 
tearful downcast glances, she revealed to him that dying con- 
fession of the tender, generous heart, which it would have 
been such treason to his memory to conceal, — when she de- 
scribed to him the poor boy’s love, and the self-renunciation of 
it, and the pleading with her of his failing voice for that love 
in behalf of his brother which he had not dared to ask for 
himself, the tears that were shed together were sweet rather 


Stella’s patriotism. 217 

than bitter. They grieved ; hut grieving together was hap- 
piness. 

The dawn succeeds the darkness ; and as normally and 
inevitably does the healthy heart turn from past sorrow to new- 
springing gladness. 


book: i'V- 

THE URSULINES AT MONTEPULCIANO. 



CHAPTER I. 

Stella’s patriotism. 

Another Carnival had come and gone in Florence. It 
was the summer of 1849 ; and this time Italy’s political Car- 
nival was over also. The Holy Father was once more every 
inch a pope ; and in Florence his Royal and Imperial High- 
ness had left so far behind him the days when he gave his pa- 
ternal blessing to eager and enthusiastic youths on their setting 
forth to drive out the Austrian from Italy, that he had hospit- 
ably, and with every manifestation of glad welcome, received 
an Austrian garrison in his own capital. 

Yes ! there were the white coats in the streets, in the piazze^ 
in the theatres, in the cafes, in the barracks, and in the Grand- 
Ducal palace of Florence. There were not man}^ of them in 
the houses of the Florentines. But there were a few. And if 
the reader has estimated aright his acquaintance the peerless 
Contessa Zenobia, he will not doubt that the Palazzo Alta- 
mari, in the Via Larga, was one of the few in^hich the 
Austrian was always welcome. The Contessa Zenobia was a 
liberal, or at least had been so, when liberalism was in fashion 
in high places. Now it could hardly be said that she was, or 
at least that she had any distinct consciousness of being, a 
political renegade. It was not so much that she had any 
strong desire of paying court to the upper powers, as that it 


218 


Stella’s patriotism. 


was a matter of course to lier to be on the side of ^^tlie mili- 
tary.” It is very possible that slie considered herself to be 
still taking the liberal side of the social world. The military 
represented that side in those days, which had made her what 
she was, from which she drew her ideas, and to which she re- 
ferred everything. 

To Zenobia the presence of the Austrians in Florence was a 
matter of unmixed satisfaction. The efforts she made to 
attract the new comers to her home, were untiring ; and, like 
all untiring efforts, were in a great measure successful. 

It will be easily understood that the success which attended 
the Contessa Zenobia’s exertions in this line were not a little 
facilitated by the presence of Stella in the Palazzo Altamari. 
The result would have been more entirely satisfactory had the 
aunt and the niece been able to work harmoniously to the same 
end. This was, unhappily, not by any means the case. 

In fact, Stella’s second Carnival had been to her a very dif- 
ferent affair from that of last year. It was a melancholy 
Carnival in Florence in 1849. Though the Palazzo Altamari 
was one of the houses in which a revelry distasteful to the 
general feeling was kept up, the Carnival was yet duller and 
more distasteful to Stella than to the rest of the world. Not 
that she was unhappy. The tidings of Malatesta’s promotion 
and success had given her the warmest pleasure. But she was 
desperatel}’- bored bjr the gaieties of her second Carnival. The 
very same things that had been pleasant enough a year before 
were now worse than insipid. And such Stella found it. 

A little later in the year, matters became worse with her. 
The Austrians came; and the attitude assumed towards them 
by the Contessa Zenobia has been explained. There were 

soirees dansantes,^’ and ^’matinees dansantes ,” — dancing 
evenings, and dancing mornings ! — at the Palazzo Altamari ; 
but, to the intense disgust and astonishment of her aunt, Stella 
absolutely refused to dance with the Austrian officers. It was 
the first time that she had ever been guilty of anything like 
rebellion or disobedience ; and the Contessa Zenobia was 
almost more astonished than she was angry. 

It was the morning after the first of the receptions at which 
the Austrians had appeared at the Palazzo Altamari, and the 
Contessa Zenobia, was sitting in high consultation with the 
Marchese Florimond in the little private morning-room on the 
second floor. The one little cup of black coffee, and the morsel 


Stella’s patriotism. 


219 


of dry bread cut into fingers, which constituted Zenohia^s 
breakfast, had been swallowed. The dainty little Sevres cup 
and saucer and plate were on their miniature tray of tlie same 
beautiful material on an inlaid table by her side ; and the ladj^ 
though not booted for her day’s work as yet, sat with one knee 
crossed over the other, while she solaced her troubled mind 
with the fumes of a cigarette. -At the other side of the little 
table sat the faithful Florimond, in an attitude of profound 
and commiserating attention. 

“ Foi de Biron, Marchese ! ” cried Zenobia, fancying that 
she was making use of a form of asseveration common among 
the aristocracy of the land of her admiration, “ I do not know 
what to make of it. I am at the end of my Latin ! If she 
had said that the Colonel was hald, and the Major was corpu- 
lent, — why, girls will be girls, and one must make the best of 
it. But what was there to say against Captain Von Stoggen- 
dorf, I should like to know ? He is an Austrian ! She does 
not choose to dance with the enemies of her country ! Grand 
JDieu ! ” 

“ It is vain to conceal from ourselves, dear Countess, that 
the incident is a grave one in many points of view. As for 
La Signorina Stella, whenT reflect on the example of elegant 
manners and savoir vivre which she has before her eyes, I con- 
fess that I am amazed ! ” 

“ Ah, Marchese ! It is not to be hoped that a raw girl 
should possess your delicately just appreciation ! But I should 
have thought, I confess, that my niece would have done me 
more credit. Enemies of her country, parbleu ! ” 

“ Had you not better send for the young ladj’’, dear Count- 
ess ? Perhaps we may induce her to hear reason ; and for last 
night it will be easy to find some excuse.” 

‘‘ Oh ! as to hearing reason, if she won’t hear that, she shall 
hear something else ! King the bell, Marchese ! I shall be 
glad to settle this business while jmu are here.” 

So Stella was summoned to her aunt’s presence, perfectly 
conscious of her misdemeanor, and aware of tiie storm that was 
about to break over her head. 

“Perhaps jmu had better speak to her, Marchese, in tlie 
first instance. Here she comes ! ” said Zenobia, as Stella 
entered the room. 

The Marchese started up, and having performed a most 
courtly salutation in unexceptionable style, handed the young 


220 


Stella’s patriotism. 


lady to a seat; and then took up a position on his feet between 
the two ladies, poising himself carefully in his lackered hoots, 
arranging his collar, and finally drawing out his snuff-box, 
preparatory to commencing his exhortation. 

“Signorina,” he began, “the most illustrious lady, the 
Countess, your aunt, confiding in my known and — and I think 
I may say, tried attachment to this family, has requested me 
to speak to you on a subject of great, and indeed, I may per- 
haps be allowed to say, vital — yes, I certainly may say, vital 
importance. Am I fortunate enough, Signorina, to carry with 
me your indulgent attention ? ” 

Here the Marchese took a pinch of snuff, and Stella gravely 
bowed. The Marchese bowed elaborately in return, and pro- 
ceeded : 

“ A longer, and — and — perhaps I may say wider — yes, a 
wider acquaintance with the world, Signorina, will teach you, 
if the lesson has never been brought home to your mind in 
your convent, that nothing is more becoming to young per- 
sons than to act decorously on all occasions. It is a rule, I 
may truly say a golden rule, my dear young lady, which you 
will find of safe application in every conjuncture of life ; and 
taking into consideration what we owe to our fellow-crea- 
tures ” 

“Specially such a creature as Yon Stoggendorf ! interrup- 
ted Zenobia, who was impatient to bring the theoretic wisdom 
of her friend to a practical application. 

“Ay I indeed,” said the Marchese, somewhat disconcerted, 
but far too well drilled not to follow the lead given him, “ when 
we consMer, as I was sajdng, that Captain Yon Stoggendorf 

is — ahem — a fellow-creature, I#nay say ” 

“ Par bleu ! I should think so ! with such a love of a 
moustache ! and six feet high without his boots, if he is an 
inch. Per Pacco ! I don’t know what the world is coming 
to, or what the girls want, for my part ! ” 

“It is not the size, but the color of him, that I object to, 
aunt ! ” said Stella, with a laugh in her eye, though she con- 
trived to force her pretty mouth to a due demureness of ex- 
pression. 

“ The color of him, child ! ” screamed her aunt ; “ why, what 
would the girl have ? I never saw a finer complexion in my 

life ! I swear there is color enough in his cheeks ” 

“ But I did not look so high as his face, aufit. It was the 
complexion of his coat that I did not like ! ” ^ 


Stella’s patriotism. 


221 


She has lost sight of her senses, I think ! exclaimed her 
aunt ; “ the brave fellows ! They are les restaurateurs de la 
jpatvie ! There was not a ball worth going to before they 
came ! And shall the house of Altamari ftiil in its gratitude 
to the restorers of the monarch}’’ ! Waltzing, too, like angels 
as they do ! Morthleu ! In my day the smiles of Venus were 
thought the due reward for the valor of Mar's. But jmu seem 
to have forgotten your pathology, miss ! But they shall not be 
insulted in this house, ces braves restaurateurs ! And I in- 
sist, Stella, that you consider yourself only too happy to dance 
with any of them who does 5mu the honor of asking you. Let 
me hear no more of this nonsense ! And now go to your room, 
and tell Zelie to assist you in seeing that all your things are 
ready for this evening ! En avant ! Marche ! ’’ 

“ So that’s settled ! ” said Zenobia, as Stella quitted the 
room without further resistance; ‘‘but I’ll tell you what, caro 
mio” she continued, addressing her faithful counsellor, “ it 
strikes me that these same notions that the girl has got in her 
head somehow, may give us trouble in a more important 
matter.” 

“And let me tell you, cara, that the matter we have been 
talking about is important enough in these days. This ques- 
tion of receiving or not receiving our brave allies is dividing 
society in a marked manner.” 

“ Well ! we’ve put all that right ! But I’m thinking about 
this proposed match. From all that the Canonico* says, it is 
one to be secured at all hazards. He did not tell me a word 
about it before starting ; but I fancy that his journey to 
Fermo was undertaken solely for the purpose of arranging the 
affair. It seems that there has been some connection between 
the Altamari and Malatesta families before.” 

“ Yes ! I remember that the late Conte used to keep up a 
correspondence with the Fermo Malatestas. And you may 
trust the Canonico for not losing sight of a good thing of the^ 
sort.” 

“ The present Marchese Cesare has but one child it seems, 
the Marchesino Alfonso ; and the property is very large ! ” 

“ A good deal of monej^, too, came into the family from the 
Cardinal, the present Marchese’s uncle.” 

“Well ! The Canonico seems to say that the matter is as 

oThe Canonico Adalberto Altamari was the younger brother of the late husband 
of thQ Contessa Zenobia. 


222 


Stella’s patriotism. 


good as arranged. The young man is to be here very 
shortly.^’ 

So the Canonico has told me ! I hear from him, too, that 
the Marchesino Alfonso has-been very strictly brought up, and 
is a perfectly range young man.’^ 

Zenobia shrugged her shoulders, protruded her lips, and 
gave a little kick out with the small foot at the end of one of 
the slender shanks in a manner which seemed to indicate an 
imperfect appreciation of the quality of range-ness in a young 
man. But she only said : 

It would be very provoking if anything were to interfere 
with a scheme so desirable in every way.’^ 

What should interfere with it?” asked the Marchese. 

“ Why ! this outbreak of Stella’s has set me thinking that 
it is on the cards that she may give us trouble. But of course 
there are ways of bringing a girl to reason.” 

“ But I am inclined to think that Stella is too sensible a 
girl to make any difficulty in such a case. It is a singular co- 
incidence,” added the Marchese, after a little pause, “ That we 
should have made acquaintance last year with the Marchesino 
Alfonso’s half-brother, an illegitimate son of the Marchese, 
born before his marriage — that jmung man whom my nephew 
brought here, you remember ! ” 

“ To be sure I do ! a very handsome young fellow ! So he 
was a son of the Marchese Cesare, was he ? I remember that 
Carlo explained to me that he was an illegitimate son ; so his 
running about the house could have no consequences, you 
know ; and he danced charmingly. I wish that the Marche- 
sino may be as good-looking a fellow ! Is the other recog- 
nised by the family ? ” 

He was recognised, and brought up mainly, I believe, 
under the care of the Cardinal. But he has never been per- 
mitted to come in contact with the family. And no secret is 
made of his position. When is the Marchesino Alfonso to be 
here ? ” 

“ I believe the Canonico expects him every day. All the 
preliminaries ” 

Zenobia was interrupted at this point by the sudden en- 
trance of- Zelie, in a great state of agitation. 

“ Oh ! Madame la Comtosse ! such an accident ! such a 
misfortune. It was not mj^ fault !” 

“ Che diavolo ! what is the matter ? What has happened ? ” 


Stella's patriotism. 


223 


inquired the Contessa, with that philosophic coolness which 
some people are able to maintain under all circumstances that 
do not manifestly threaten the safety of their own persons. 

“ Mademoiselle Stella ! It w'as her own fault. I was look- 
ing another way at the moment. It was done in an instant ! ’’ 

“ But what was done, Mademoiselle Zelie ? ” asked the 
Marchese ; ‘‘ you forget that you have told us nothing.” 

“It was the water, Signor Marchese! — the hot water! 
Mademoiselle Stella sent her maid to the kitchen for a jug of 
hot water ! I was looking into the wardrobe when the girl 
came into the room with it. ‘ Thank you, Assunta, that will 
do ! you may go ! ’ said Mademoiselle ; and the next instant 
I heard a horrible shriek ! I ran to her ! but I could do no 
good — no good to her poor foot. The jug had slipped out of 
her hand, and all the scalding water had gone over her foot 
and ankle ! ” 

“What clumsiness to be sure!” exclaimed the Contessa. 
“ Go back, Zelie, and request the Signorina Stella to come 
here.” 

“ Come here ! Madame la Comtesse ! You do not know, 
then, what hot water, scalding water, is. She cannot put her 
foot to the ground ! Heaven knows when she will walk again. 
It is a surgeon that is wanted, Madame ; and that without 
loss of time ! ” 

“ Heavens and earth ! what a piece of work ! Will jmu 
send one of the men, Marchese, for Doctor Contini? I must 
go and see what the silly girl has done to herself.” 

The sight of the excruciating pain Stella was suffering 
shocked poor Zenobia out of her philosophy at once. She had 
had no idea of the seriousness of the injury inflicted; and, to 
do her justice, was not indifferent to her niece’s sufferings as 
soon as she comprehended the gravity of them. 

Doctor Contini at once declared that Stella must go to bed, 
and probably remain there for several days. And as for using 
her foot, it would be out of the question for a long time. 

In a few days, however, she was able to sit up in bed, and 
was allowed, at her urgent request, to have the use of pen and 
ink. The result w'as a rather remarkablj^ fat letter, addressed 
to the Signorina Teresa Balmieri, at the convent of San Fro- 
colo at Pistoia. 

“Dearest Teresa,” said a half-sheet of paper^ carefully 


224 


Stella’s patriotism. 


wrapped round an enclosure so as to prevent the address on it 
from being seen through the outer cover, — I am laid up with 
a scalded foot. Some day I will tell jou all about it, and 
make you laugh. Please let the enclosed be forwarded to 
your mother without any delay. 

“ Your always affectionate 

Stella.’^ 

The enclosure, which was addressed to ^^La Signora Pal- 
mieri, presso la Porta Eomana, Firenze,” was found, however, 
when opened by the widow, to contain only another enclosure, 
and these words : 

^‘Dear Signora Palmieri, — 

“ Will you give the enclosed to your daughter-in-law, Fran- 
cesca. I am laid up with a scalded foot. It will soon be 
well ; but, in the meantime, I am not able to send my letters 
as usual to dear Francesca. 

Your always, dearest Signora Palmieri, 

“ Stella Altamari.” 

On the letter, which thus, at length, reached the hands of 
Francesca, who had some three or four months ago become the 
wife of Pinaldo, and was now living with her husband in his 
mother’s house, was written only the words : 

To be forwarded as usual ! ” 

Inside the letter, which was forwarded as usual hy Frances- 
ca to Signor Giulio Malatesta, Capitano nel — Reggimento 
dei Lancieri, a Torino, ran as follows : 

“ Never was comfort better timed, dearest Giulio, than that 
which your last week’s dear letter conveyed to me. It came 
when I most wanted comforting. I had grown so angry with 
my surroundings, so pettish, despondent, gloomy — yes, I pro- 
test I am very often now positively gloomy^ however strange 
you may think it — that nothing less than your dear hand- 
writing could hearten me up again ! I have told you, I think, 
in a former letter, that aunt Zenobia’s liberalism has been fad- 
ing out sadly of late. The arrival of these Austrians seems 
to have washed away the very last tinge of it. She immedi- 


I Stella’s patriotism. 225 

ately began to see the absolute necessity of these defenders of 
the restoration, ces l/rave restaurateurs, as she calls them ; 
and as she lost no time in finding out, as she sa3'^s, what dis- 
tinkij ^mung men they are, their abominable swords come 
clanking up our staircase at all hours ; whereupon I take care 
to make myself invisible, and have my daily dose of scolding 
every afternoon when we return from^tlie jjasseggiata for be- 
ing absorbed in studying the coloring of the mountains when 
tlie}" come bowing at the carriage door. She positivelj^ insist- 
ed on my dancing witli her new favorites ; but 3’our poor 

little Stella has been lame these many days past with a pretty 
severe scald on her left instep, which, sill}’’ girl ! she had the 
awkwardness to inflict on herself a few minutes after her 
aunt’s intimation to that effect. So I have been spared that 
mortification at the cost of a few days’ confinement to my 
bed, whence I am now writing. You would have laughed 
enough for a month if you could have heard the good old 
Marchese’s lecture to me on the sin, the abomination, and, 
might I be permitted to say, the — the impropriety — yes, the 
impropriety of my refusing to dance with a certain Captain 
Von Stoggendorf, who is condescending enough to persecute 
me with his attentions. Aunt Zenobia set him on to lecture 
me ; and then cut it short by peremptorily insisting on my 
dancing with any of the white-coats who might ask me. A 
few minutes afterwards I was doing anything but laughing, I 
assure you ! for the pang of the scald was greater than I had 
bargained for. But my escape was well worth it. The ab- 
sence of our good friend Carlo is a loss to me. I should be 
able to make a better fight against all these little annoyances 
if he were here. But he left Florence for Pisa as soon as ever 
the Carnival was over. What about your projected journey to 
Bologna ? Have you not been able to get leave of absence 
yet ? 

‘‘Write as usual, dearest. Our good Francesca will find 
some safe means of bringing your letter into my hands. 
What should we do without her ? 

Addio, my own love! I want you to tell me that you 
approve of my little ruse as a means of escape from Von 
Stoggendorf and Company. 

“ Your ever loving 

“ Stella.” 


14 


226 


THE CANON ADALBERTO. 


CHAPTEE II. 

THE CANON ADALBEPwTO. 

The days passed wearily enough for Stella in the Palazzo 
Altaraari. Every week brought her a letter from Giulio ; and 
she made and kept a stern resolution that she would read the 
last received only once every day till the arrival of the next. 
It was not that she imagined that it was possible, as the 
phrase goes, to have too much of a good thing ; hut that each 
week’s supply might not be too entirelj^ used up before the 
coming of the next. It was a matter of very grave doubt 
with Stella what might be the result if Zelie were made aware 
that she was in the habit of clandestinely receiving letters. 
She would hardl}’-, Stella thought, betray the past fact to her 
aunt ; but she might very probably think it her duty to take 
measures for the effectual prevention of a repetition of it. In 
any case it was prudent to guard the secret of those sacred 
writings. 

The two morning hours, together with the minutes given 
to the reading of the epistle for the week, which could be accom- 
plished with less precautions, inasmuch as it consisted but of 
one, or the most two, sheets, were the only green spots in the 
very arid desert of Stella’s life during those summer months of 
1859. 

The Contessa Zenobia had settled to pass the month of 
August at Leghorn, as it had been for some years past more 
and more becoming the fashion among the beau wo of Flor- 
ence to do. Stella had looked forward to this month at the sea- 
side with pleasure as at least making a change in the monoto- 
nous routine of the Palazzo Altamari, and withdrawing her 
for a while from the persecution of Von Stoggendorf and his 
brother “ restaurateurs.” Her foot, too, was now rapidly be- 
coming well, and it seemed probable that, unless a timely 
diversion was affected in some way, she would belikeh^ enougii 
to encounter the misfortune of a sprained ankle, or some such 
disagreeable accident. 

A diversion did, however, occur before August came, of a 
quite different kind from any which it had entered into Stella’s 
head to dream of, but of which the reader has gathered some 


THE CANON ADALBERTO. 


227 


intimation from tlie latter part of the conversation between the 
Contessa Zenobia and the Marchese Braricacci, which has been 
recorded in the last chapter. Troubles of a very ditfereiit cali- 
bre from any that could be occasioned by obnoxious dancing 
partners were about to break over the head of the poor little 
heiress — troubles of the sort that heiresses are specially liable 
to ! 

The Contessa Zenobia, as has been seen, was not altogether 
without misgivings as to the degree of difficulty she might 
have in carrying out her design, though she was verj^ far from 
having any suspicion of the real obstacles that she was destined 
to find in her path. And now, since the girFs absurd conduct 
with reference to the Austrian officers, and the still more ab- 
surd reasons she had given for it, her aunt feared that notions 
of the same sort might prejudice her against a marriage with 
a man whose connections, S3unpathies, and antecedents were, as 
she well knew, markedly anti-national and AustricantiP 

Under these circumstances, she deemed it best to say noth- 
ing to her niece on the subject till the gentleman himself 
should arrive, hoping that he would prove to be a man of the 
sort of those who generally find little difficulty in making a 
girl of Stella’s age feel that the orthodox faith and opinion on 
all subjects is that which they ma}^ happen to hold. 

How far these hopes of the Contessa Zenobia were fulfilled 
by the event cannot, perhaps, better be communicated to the 
reader than by transcribing a portion of another letter from 
Stella to Giulio, written about the middle of J ul^", 1859. 

“ There has been another new comer of late to this house,” 
she writes, after having described to Giulio some of the annoj^- 
ances caused her by the presence of the braves restaurateurs^ 
“ whose appearance has irked me not a little ; though in truth 
I hardl}’- know whj'- it should do so, except that aunt seems so 
over-civil to him, and so anxious to make me so too. This is 
no other than your half-brother Alfonso. He is here from 
Fermo on business, I fancy ; and gives us the light of his 
presence almost every day. 

“The Sor Marchesino is — what shall I saj^ ? a very ‘Gin- 
gillino’ of a man, as our glorious Giusti has it, — a perfect ex- 
ample of the mincing, finicking, insipid order of coxcomb, 
with a pink and white pursed-up little face, rather weak eyes, 
and hateful Austrian mustachios, hemp-colored and waxed up 


228 


THE CANON ADALBERTO. 


into sharp points. A perking, strutting, little figure, invisible 
feet, and cambric ruffles — oh the horror ! — at his little wrists. 
In short, a perfect Gingillino, with a Marquisate tacked on 
to him, which I think nmkes him ten times worse. Then his 
lordship’s talk is as Gingillinesque as his person. Worst of 
all, it is especially to me that his charming speeches are ad- 
dressed, and Oh dear, there is Zelie — (she is enchanted 

with him, by the way !) — calling me down stairs, and I must 
go. If I wait to finish this letter till I am able to escape 
again, I shall not be able to send it to our good Francesca to- 
day, and then it would not reach jmu on the day on which it 
is due ; a misfortune 'which, though (to your honor. Signore, 
be it said) I have never experienced, I can appreciate too 
keenl}’- to inflict on you. 

Addio, my own heart’s treasure ! Your loving 

Stella.” 

When Zelie summoned her charge to the presence of the 
Contessa, as related by Stella at the close of the above letter, 
the terrible blow, which we know was in preparation for her, 
was about to fall with all its sudden stunning weight upon her 
head. The scene which followed between Stella and her aunt 
was a terrible and very painful one ; a detailed report of which 
would be little edifying. The Contessa Zenobia did not 
plainly speak out all that was in her mind ; but had she done 
so, the stand-point from which she in reality looked at the 
question would have been found to explain much of the abom- 
inable innuendo which fell — much of it harmlessly — on Stella’s 
ears. ‘‘ I am speaking to you,” she might have said, if she 
had been capable of clearly seeing and expressing all her own 
theories on the subject, and had been inclined to speak them 
out truly — “ I am speaking to you of settling your position in 
life, and you keep answering me with impertinent cross pur- 
poses. Love may be a very pleasant thing in its place, and 
in due season, I am sure I don’t deny it! but what on earth 
has it to do with the matter in hand? Above all, what can 
excuse the indelicacy of a girl’s having any ideas upon such a 
subject? lam talking to you of marriage. Do pray confine 
your attention to that. It will be time enough to think about 
love by-and-by. You tell me that you can never love the 
Marchese Alfonso. Do I require jmu to do so? His position 
is one which makes him in every respect a proper, nay, a 


THE CANON AliALBERTO. 


229 


highly desirable husband for you. And all your dreams about 
love and all tliat are wholly beside the purpose.’^ 

Tlie Contessa Zenobia did not say all this. But these were 
the ideas at the bottom of her mind. Her ideas on the sub« 
ject in hand, and the partially veiled declaration of them, 
which poor Stella had to listen to, conve 3 ’’ed amid a storm of 
passion and reproaches, produced a scene, the reproduction of 
which would be so little pleasing or useful, that a sufficient 
notion of it may be gathered in the least offensive form from 
another letter written by Stella on the subsequent day to 
Giulio. 

“ I little thought, my dearest love, when I was obliged to 
leave off my letter 3 msterday so abruptly, that I should take 
up my pen again this morning, and with such a tale to tell 
you ! Last night I was unable to write. Twice this morn- 
ing I have tried to begin my letter, but the words would not 
come. 

“ I went down to my aunt when Zelie called me. It was 
earl}^ for her to receive even me ; but I could see that she was 
quite prepared for company, though no one was with her. 
She was as gay, perhaps a little gayer than usual. She kissed 
me kindl}", and bade me sit down by her bedside and be lec- 
tured. And I laughed. Then she told me that I was grow- 
ing quite a woman, — that I should soon be turning into an 
old maid, — and I laughed again. And then — oh Giulio ! — 
she told me I must marry 1 — I almost laughed still ! — that it 
was her will I should be married soon ; — that as my only 
guardian she had settled the matter, and had, in fact, prom- 
ised me to that man, the Marchese Alfonso, — that wretched 
despicable creature ! What I answered I cannot tell. I did 
not shed tears ! I was silent at first. It was only in reply to 
taunts, and sneers, and reproaches, which I cannot repeat to 
jmu, that I at last named 3 ’our dear name ! On hearing it she 
fell into a frightful storm of passion, and — oh ! the hideous 
things she said, or rather screamed at me ; so she drove 
me from the room, and I took refuge here more dead than 
alive, and have been too glad not to be called upon to appear 
since ; for now, weak coward that I am, all the energy’- is gone 
out of me, and I can only weep and weep, and call on you for 
support and comfort. 

Nevertheless, my Giulio, they cannot marry me without an 


230 


THE CANON ADALBERTO. 


uttered word from ray mouth ; and I think my Giulio knows 
his Stella well enough to feel very sure that the rack lias 
never been invented j^et — either physical or moral rack — that 
can force that word from her ! In life, and in death, mj' own 
love, I am yours ! yours wholl}’’, and yours only ! 

‘‘ Do not imagine, for all these fine words, true as thej^ are 
to the letter, that 1 am brave. I am the same timid, easily 
scared little mouse, whose weakness, I suppose, recommended 
her to jmur strength, without the slightest pretension to hero- 
ism of any sort ! If only I could leap to your neck, and feel 
your strong arms round me ! As it is, mj’’ onl}^ safet}' lies in 
the thought, which I keep steadily before my mind, that it is 
impossible to carry into effect my aunt’s hideous intention, 
without my own act ; and that no human power can compel 
me to that act ! The Marchese Florimond, Zelie tells me, is 
now closeted with my aunt; and no doubt mj- rebellion is the 
subject of their consultation. I have always thought the 
Marchese a harmless, good-natured old man. But I suspect 
that his opinion, as far as he can be said to have any of his 
own, would be that a girl is bound in such a case to render 
implicit obedience to her parents or guardians. And at all 
events we know that he would as soon think of putting on 
his wig wrong side outwards, as of opposing my aunt. One 
great trial I am spared. If it was a mother who was com- 
manding me to do this thing — I should equally rebel, but the 
rebellion would be infinitely more painful. As it is, though I 
am grateful to Aunt Zenobia for much kindness and much 
indulgence, neither my heart nor my conscience have any 
pang to suffer from uncompromising resistance to her will on 
such a subject. 

“After all, what can they do to me ? They cannot kill me ! 
As for beating, or starving, or anything of that kind, they will 
find their match. There is only one thing I won’t endure. 
That is, to be exposed to the personal obsessions of the Mar- 
chese Alfonso. If the worst comes to the worst in this wav, 
I have a notion that I could frighten the little man; perhaps 
even to the extent of drivin^j him to abandon all thoughts of 
adding the Altaraari to the Malatesta propert 3 ^ 

“ There are wa^'s, too, of making it absolutely necessary to 
be confined to one’s bed without endangering one’s life ! In 
anj’- case, I am quite determined not to have to listen to pro- 
fessions of the Marchese Alfonso’s love. Ugh ! 

“ Now, my own beloved, once again, do not be cast down or 


THE CANON ADALBERTO. 


231 


alarmed about your little Stella ! I am afraid I have written 
more dolefully than I ought to have done at the beginning of 
this long letter. Of course I shall write again, the instant I 
know my doom. That is to say, I shall if possible. Kemem- 
ber, that if you do not hear from me, you are not to suppose 
anything worse than that I have been so watched as to make 
it impossible for me to communicate with our good Francesca. 
It w'ould be a great comfort if Carlo were here. In all proba- 
bility he will be, in the course of the autumn. 

“ Addlo, amor mio ! Your own 

Stella.’^ 

Stella was quite right in supposing that, while she was busy 
writing the above letter, her aunt was occupied in taking coun- 
sel as to the best means of enforcing her submission to the lot 
which had been determined on for her. It was true, also, 
when Zelie had made her report, that Zenobia’s only privy 
counsellor was the Marchese Florimond, who could serve little 
other purpose than as an echo to the lady’s expression of lier 
views and ideas. But a second visitor, of a very different 
calibre, had been announced before the Contessa and her 
faithful Florimond had been long together. This was the 
Canonico Adalberto Altamari. He was a younger brother of 
the Contessa Zenobia’s husband, and of Stella’s father ; 
younger by so many j^ears, that he was, at the time of which 
we are speaking, not more than fifty-five or six years old. 

The celibacy of the Romish clergy completely attains the 
object it aims at in the vast majority of cases. It effectually 
secures to the exclusive service of the Church the hearts and 
heads, the ambition, energy, and self-love of her Levites. It 
does so most surely in the case of those of the priesthood, who 
are chosen from all but the upper classes of society. 

Thus, had the Church given Adalberto Altamari a red hat, 
she would in all probability have ‘‘marked him for her own,” 
heart and brain. Had she given the son of one of the Alta- 
mari fattori the canonicate held by the Conte Adalberto, the 
purchase would have been equally complete. A mere canoni- 
cate without prospect of ulterior preferment was not enough 
to wean so highly-placed a noble from the world. The interests 
and ambitions of the Canon Altamari centred accordingly in 
the family greatness rather than in his own professional career. 
To unite the two large properties of Malatesta and Altamari 


232 


THE CA^^ON ADALBERTO. 


into one huge maps of wealth, and to lay the foundation of a 
family of Altamari-Malatesta, or perhaps even b}’’ dint of skill- 
ful negotiation, of Malatesta-Altamari, was, in the unhappy 
absence of male heirs to the Altamari name, an object worth 
living for. 

The Canonico Adalberto was not fond of his sister-in-law 
Zenobia. He was essentially a gentleman ; and she was, as 
the reader is aware — not calculated to be wholly acceptable to 
a refined and gentlemanlike churchman. Thej’- saw little of 
each other therefore ; more especially as Zenobia, having 
charged herself with the entire education of Stella, and having 
the whole of her late husband’s property at her disposal, the 
Canonico had small title to interfere in the bringing up of the 
heiress. He had contented himself, therefore, with ascertain- 
ing that the young lady was placed in one of the most accred- 
ited educational convents of Tuscany ; and with so far ascer- 
taining the views and feelings of Zenobia on the subject as to 
assure himself that when the proper time should come, lie 
should meet with no opposition to his plans for the family 
aggrandizement from her. 

He had, as we know, had every reason to be satisfied with 
the manner in which she had received the scheme for the 
Malatesta marriage. 

“ I am glad you have come. Signor Canonico,’’ said Zenobia, 
saluting her guest. “Here’s a pretty kettle of fish! The 
Marchese here and I were considering what was best to be 
done. Perhaps your wisdom may help ns. For my part, I 
am so flabbergasted that I hardly know whether I stand on 
my head or my heels ! ” 

“ If 1 can in any way assist you to recover a knowledge of 
your position in that respect, I shall have much pleasure in 
doing so,” said the Canon. 

“ Altro che grave, per Bacco ! ” exclaimed the Contessa. 
“When I informed your niece, yesterday, of the brilliant 
destiny that had been secured for her, what do you think of 
the minx flatly declaring that she would liear of nothing of 
the kind ? She abused the poor Marchese Alfonso ! I don’t 
say that he is a man for a woman to fall in love with. But 
who the devil wants her to fall in love with him ?” 

“Did you suggest that consideration to the young lady’s 
attention ? ” asked the priest, somewhat dryly, and looking 
at the Contessa whth a rather peculiar expression as he spoke. 


THE CANON ADALBERTO. 


233 


I believe you ! ” returned Zeuobia, utterly unconscious of 
the Canonico’s meaning; of course I did ! But, it had no 
more eifect in bringing her to reason, than if I had whistled 
to her.’’ 

“ You forget, perhaps, that the Contessina Stella has not 
the advantage of your experience of such matters. Is her re- 
jection of the match proposed to her the extent of the mischief 
we have to deal with, may I ask ? ” 

^^Parbleu! That is just where the shoe pinches ! ” exclaimed 
the Contessa. “ The impudent hussy had the audacity to tell 
me to my face that she was in love with a youngster who was 
here during the Carnival last year, dancing about at all the 
halls ; — and who, it seems, is of all persons in the world, the 
illegitimate half-brother of the Marchese Alfonso ! ” 

“ This complicates the matter somewhat, and places it in a 
different category,” said the priest, as his brow darkened a 
little. 

“ He is the son of the Marchese Cesare by a woman who, as 
I have understood, afterwards took the veil,” answered the 
Marchese Florimond ; ^‘his name is Giulio Malatesta. He 
has, I believe, been brought up at the cost and by the charity 
of the family. My nephew became acquainted with him at 
Pisa, where he was studying at the University, and unluckily 
brought him here.” 

“What sort of a young man is he?” asked the Canon 
Adalberto. 

“ Why, a mighty pretty fellow ! ” answered the Contessa 
Zenobia, who probably felt that she was a competent witness 
upon this point; “ there is no denying that! — twenty times 
the man that the Marchese Alfonso is ! But, as I said to 
Stella, what the deuce has that got to do with choosing a hus- 
band ? Unmarried girls did not talk or think about loving 
men in my time, mortbleu!^' 

“ I am afraid that there has been mismanagement here. I 
am to blame myself for not having taken the precaution of 
giving an eye to what Stella was about since she left her con- 
vent. Was it quite prudent, my sister-in-law, to allow this 
young man, being such as you describe him, to frequent your 
house in the manner in which you admit that he did ?” 

“ Why, who the devil could have dreamed there could come 
any harm from it ? and he illegitimate ! Of course, marriage 
between him and an Altamari was out of the question ; and 


234 


THE CANON ADALBERTO. 


who could have supposed that things were come to such a pass 
ill the world, that a young girl like Stella should be thinking 
of men befoje she was married !” 

Well ! ’’ said the Canonico, ‘‘ it is useless to lament over the 
past. Perhaps no very fatal mischief has been done. In the 
first place, what is the present social position of this obnoxious 
illegitimate son ? ’’ 

“ He luas a student at Pisa, as I said,” replied the Marchese 
Plorimond: ‘‘but he was one of those who were engaged in 
that absurd affair at Curtatone ; and he is now, I believe, a 
captain in the Piedmontese service.” 

The priest’s face grew blacker as the Marchese spoke. “ It 
is singular,” he said, “how constantly recurring in every walk 
of life are the occasions on which one is met by the annoyances 
and social dislocations arising from the apostasy of a crowned 
head from the interests and duties of his order, and the un- 
natural coalition between authority and the revolutionary 
principle ! Here, again, as at every turn, this renegade mon- 
archy stands in one’s way ! Tlie question now is, what will be 
the best immediate steps to take ? ” 

“Bread and water, and confinement to her own room, till 
she thinks better of it, I sa}’- ! ” cried the Contessa. 

“ Signora Contessa, I am inclined to think that the discipline 
you mention would not be the best calculated to attain the 
})im we have in view. I should be disposed to recommend an 
attempt to bring tlie hnly influences of religion to bear upon 
her mind ! ” 

“Well!” said Zenobia, “I am sure, if you think. Signor 
Canonico, that there is any good to be done by confession, and 
penance, and all that, I say, try them all?” 

“ The plan I would recommend,” pursued the priest, 
“ would include the due use of these and all other holy influ- 
ences of the Church, applied, however, in the congenial at- 
mosphere of a retirement, which should give her leisure to 
meditate on the wholesome counsel given her — and on the 
consequences of the obstinate rejection of it.” 

“ Shut her up in a convent ! That’s the plan ! You’ve hit 
it. Canon ! I’ve no doubt it will bring her round in double 
quick ! ” cried Zenobia. “ Bravo, Signor Canonico ! ” 

“I would not, I think, however, recommend sending her 
back to her convent at Pistoia. Ho I my notion would be to 
send her elsewhere.” 


THE CANON ADALBERTO. 235 

Anywhere you like ! But I do not understand what the 
whereabouts can have to do with it.” 

I would suggest that the young lady be placed for a while 
in a convent of Ursulines at Montepulciano. The Lady Supe- 
rior is a very excellent and able woman, whom I know well, 
and in whom I can place perfect confidence. Being a small 
and remote little town, distant from any of the great lines of 
communication, there is the greater chance that her residence 
there may remain unknown to those who might endeavor to 
counteract our intentions.” 

“ Very well ! Montepulciano be it ! ” said Zenobia. 

The rule of the order,” continued the Canonico Adalber- 
to, is a somewhat strict one. I do not wdsh that it should 
be so applied to the Contessina Stella as to cause her any 
bodily suffering. It is to the effect on her mind and heart, 
which I hope, and, indeed, do not doubt, that my good and 
pious friend, the Abbess of Santa Filomena, will be able to 
produce, that I trust.” 

“A blessed virtue, indeed!” sighed the Marchese Flori- 
mond. “ When would you propose that the Signorina Stella 
should commence her residence with those holy ladies ? ” 

“ It will be desirable that I should see the Abbess in per- 
son,” replied the Canonico. ‘‘I can proceed to Montepulciano 
at once. On m}'- return, say in five days from this, the Cou- 
tessina might be ready to start on her journey.” 

The result of this council of war was communicated to Giu- 
lio by the subject of it in the following letter, written on the 
succeeding day : 

I have barely the time, my own, to write. M}’ fate, or at 
least the next phase of it, is settled ; and it might he much 
worse! There was a grand consultation here yesterday on 
m}^ case. The Canonico Adalberto, mj'- uncle, who has been 
the projector of this hateful marriage scheme, came, and was 
closeted for a long time with Aunt Zenobia and the Marchese 
Florimond. Last night it was communicated to me by my 
aunt in a dry, hard, brief manner, very unlike her usual rat- 
tling talkativeness, that I am to be sent to a convent, there to 
meditate on the virtues and necessity of obedience. I say 
again, my own, it might be worse. I shall not be exposed to 
the torment of listening to, or even of seeing, the Marchese 
Alfonso. The worst of it is, that the utmost secresy is ob- 


236 


SPIRITUAL INFLUENCES. 


served with reference to tlie place of destination ; of course 
with the view of preventing me from communicating it to 
you. I have managed to write to Francesca; have told her 
all ; and implored her to get her husband to be on the lookout, 
and to ascertain whither I am convej^ed. Fortunately, I was 
able to tell her the day and hour of our departure from Flor- 
ence, which has been fixed for 7 a.m. on next Saturda 3 ^ My 
trust is that Signor Rinaldo will stick to the traces of me, till 
he has ascertained the place of my imprisonment. 

Write as usual, under cover to Francesca, and trust to her 
finding the means of forwarding jmur letter. Courage and 
patience, my Giulio, and the future will be ours. 

“ Adieu, dearest ! I hope to find the means of forwarding 
my letters in future. E-emember, in case I should fail to do 
so, and let no length of silence cause you to forget or to doubt, 
that I am, and shall ever be unalterably and wholly ^mur own 
Stella.'' 


CHAPTER III. 

SPIRITUAL INFLUENCES. 

The differences between the social life of Europe in these 
latter times, and that which prevailed during all the previous 
centuries of which history has the record, may be summed up 
in no way perhaps more compendiously and accuratel}^, than 
by stating that during the latter period accessibility, and dur- 
ing the former inaccessibility, was the chief merit any spot 
could offer as an eligible site for human dwellings. The site 
of Montepulciano was selected by its old Etruscan founders 
for the advantages it presented in the latter point of view. 

Yet it is a magnificent position. The world has recently 
been brought within sight of it by the railroad running from 
Siena Rome-wards. When Stella Altamari was condemned 
to seclusion within its old grey walls, Montepulciano was j^et 
farther away from the haunts and track of travellers. 

The clean well-built little stone city possesses no hotel, prop- 
erly so called ; but kindly Christians may be found who are 
willing, for a moderate consideration, to pla}^ the Samaritan to 
a stranger. Then from the vantage-ground of the city wall, 


SPIRITUAL INFLUENCES. 237 

he who has scaled it, may feast his eye on a varied panorama 
rich in all the special beauty of Italian landscape. 

The convent of Santa Filomena is built close to the south- 
ern wall of the citj'', in such sort as to command from its win- 
dows the full prospect of the magnificent landscape. But the 
votaries of St. Ursula have carefully shut out the view from all 
the windows of their convent except those of the Abbess’s 
apartment. A sort of trough of wood or stone, with its side 
sloping outwards, is placed across the lower part of the window, 
so that the inhabitants of ’the room palely lighted by it can see 
a strip of shy, if they turn their eyes in the only direction in 
which, according to the theory of their vocation, they ought to 
turn them, but can catch no glimpse of the sublunaiy world. 

The parlor of the Abbess was excepted from this rule at the 
convent of the Ursulines, and the whole of that lovely expanse 
could be enjoyed from the windows of it. 

The other side of the convent stood in a narrow, most mel- 
ancholy-looking lane, the lofty stone buildings of which pre- 
vented any ray of sunshine from entering it save for a short 
period at mid-day. There were very few windows in the huge 
black wall of the convent on this side, and those few were pro- 
tected in the manner that has been described. A small door 
under a round-topped arch, opening on this lane, was the only 
entrance to the convent, save a postern in the lofty garden 
wall, always, of course, rigidly guarded by lock and bolt. The 
smallness of the massive, strong-looking little door in the wide 
extent of unbroken wall, gave a peculiarly prison-like air to the 
front of the convent of Santa Filomena. 

The Canonico Adalberto Altamari, though he had already 
undergone the fatigue of one journey from Florence to Monte- 
pulciano on his niece’s behalf, in execution of the plan of oper- 
ation decided on at the conference between him and the Contessa 
Zenobia, deemed it his duty, as a good uncle, to set forth again 
immediately on his return for the purpose of himself escorting 
Stella on her journey. There was, as may be imagined, little 
conversation between the uncle and niece bj^ the way. 

Stella, though she was very gentle and silent, understood 
that it was war to the knife between her uncle and herself, 
and though she was far from underrating the difficulties and 
troubles before her, by no means lost heart. She said to her- 
self, as she passed within the convent gate, that this was to be 
her Curtatoue, and she determined to fight the battle that was 


238 


SPIRITUAL INFLUENCES. 


before her to the last witliout flinching and without a thought 
of surrender — to flght it with a valor that should deserve the 
approbation of Giulio ! 

Stella Altamari carried as brave a heart in that dainty sjlph- 
like figure of hers, as many a hero has carried beneath coat of 
mail or gold-laced cloth. 

One great source of hope and comfort had been vouchsafed 
to her during the journey, and had materially contributed to 
keep up her courage. She and her uncle, occupied the coupe 
of the diligence. On the roof it was a cabriolet, after tlie 
French fashion. When the carriage began to climb the first 
steep hill after leaving Florence, from this cabriolet descended 
a young man, who, stepping out briskly, soon passed it, and 
walked up the hill in front of the coupe windows. At first 
Stella did not observe the walker, but before the top of the 
hill was reached she was certain it was Finaldo ; and when he 
proceeded to climb up to his place again, she was able to 
exchange one cautiously-guarded glance with him, which satis- 
factorily assured her that her hurried note to Francesca had 
been duly acted on by her kind friends. Of course, no sort of 
communication, not even a look, could be ventured on during 
the journey; but when the diligence was painfully toiling up 
the hill of Montepulciano on the evening of the second day, a 
little after sunset, Finaldo was again stepping along in advance 
of it ; and the last thing which Stella saw before she entered 
the door of her prison in the now dark lane, was the same figure 
cautiously watching her from under the deep shadow of the 
wall opposite. She carried with her, therefore, into her prison 
the great comfort of knowing that Giulio and her other friends 
would at least be informed of her whereabouts. 

Her uncle simply presented her to the Lady Superior, and 
at once took his departure. All that had to be said between 
them had been said at their previous meeting. 

The Lady Superior was, as the Canonico Adalberto had said, 
a person eminently well qualified for undertaking the work to 
be done in reducing a rebellious spirit to obedience. She was 
seventy years of age at the time of Stella’s arrival at the con- 
vent, and had spent the last twenty of them in forcing upon 
those placed under her authority, as Superior of the commu- 
nity, that moral suicide which, for more than thirty previous 
years, she had been learning to practise. 

The convent of Santa Filomena did not receive young 


SPIRITUAL INFLUENCES. 


239 


persons to be educated as a regular part of its system. But 
there were a few other inmates besides Stella, who were resid- 
ing there for different reasons ; — one or two, like her, sentenced 
by their relatives to a term of convent discipline as a punish- 
ment ; and a few othrs, who had found an asylum there under 
various circumstances. 

Slowly and painfully the heavy hours dragged themselves 
to the close of each unchanging day. Slowly the intermina- 
ble days massed themselves into weeks and months ; ai]d the 
dull routine of the convent life rolled on, like some dead Lethe 
stream, monotonous as death — eventless, aimless. 

But the brave little heart, though drooping sorely, was not 
conquered. 

Tliere had come no word or token from the outer world to 
keep hope and courage alive. Neither had it been possible 
for her to send any word of communication to her friends. 
Stella had the good sense to reflect that the silence of those 
without was doubtless to be attributed only to the same diffi- 
culties which liad prevented her from communicating with 
them. These difficulties she had as yet found to be insur- 
mountable. The only luiman beings who ever entered the 
convent were persons known to the Superior for many years, 
and wholly in her confidence. Even those were invariably ac- 
companied by one of the older nuns during the whole time 
that their functions required their presence within the walls. 
On the rare occasions, when any secular person was permitted 
to speak with any one of the inmates of the convent in the 
parlatorio,^’ not onl}’’ was the stranger required to remain 
on one side of a grating running across the entire chamber, 
while the nun or pensioner visited was on the other, but one 
of the older nuns was always present at the interview, and 
took especial care that the recluse did not approach within a 
yard or two of the grating. 

In a word, it seemed to Stella that all idea of holding any 
communication with the outer world must be given up as 
utterly hopeless. 

Then as the winter advanced on the top of that bleak hill, 
the comfortless austeritj^ of the convent life added a very con- 
siderable amount of bodily sufferings .tQ the trials against 
which Stella had to struggle. But this part of the burden laid 
on her, she found herself able to despise more thoroughly than 
she could the sickness of heart from hope long deferred, and 
the weight of the moral solitude around her. 


240 


THE NEW ABBESS. 


Still, tliougli sorel}’’, sorely tried, the brave little heart was 
not yet conquered, nor the power of resistance yet crushed out 
of it ! 

Early in the next year, before the end of January, when 
Stella had been at Montepulciano about six months, an event 
happened in the convent — a very great event — indeed the 
greatest which can occur in convent annals ! 

One bitterly cold morning the venerable Mother Veronica 
did not appear in her place in the choir at matins. When the 
hour for the next office came, and still the Superior did not 
make her appearance, two of the oldest nuns went together 
to her cell, and — found that the Mother Veronica had been that 
night summoned to sing her matin-song in another and yet a 
holier choir. 

Who was to succeed to the post of Abbess ? That was the 
one thought which occupied, for once busily, every heart and 
head in the community. 

For Stella the question had small interest. One of the 
oldest nuns was entrusted with the authority of the Superior, 
temporarily. All went on as usual. Stella said to herself 
with a sigh, that the question of who was to be the new Supe- 
rior was utterly without interest to her. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE NEW ABBESS. 

Some little time elapsed before the appointment of a new 
Superior of the convent of the Ursulines at Montepulciano 
was decided on. It had been expected in the convent that 
the oldest of the community, who had for some years dis- 
charged the functions of Vice Superior, would have been ap- 
pointed to the vacant post. But this had not been the case. 
A certain degree of careful selection seemed to have been ex- 
ercised in making the appointment of the new Abbess ; and 
when the choice w^as announced, the members of the little 
community were not a little disgusted to learn that they were 
to receive a Superior from another convent of the same rule in 
a distant city. 


THE NEW ABBESS. 


241 


Early in the following April — the April of 1850, that is to 
say — two old women in the not altogether nnpicturesque cos- 
tume of the Augustine rule were walking, or rather sauntering, 
in the grateful spring sunshine, under the sheltered wall of the 
convent garden. One was a tall, large, hard-featured woman, 
bent with age and rheumatism, though she was only sixty-five : 
Sister Giuseppa, who had expected to be the new Superior. 
The other, a trim, dapper, little old dame, alert and upriglit, 
though nearly of the same age as her companion : Sister 
Maria. 

They moved every now and then a few steps along the sunny 
walk, barred at regular intervals with black stripes of shade 
cast by the battlements on the top of the southern wall of the 
garden, which was also the wall of the city ; and then would 
stop awhile, facing each other, and conversing together with 
much gesticulation, while it might have been observed, b}'- any 
one who watched them closel 3 qthat as they spoke they assured 
themselves by sharp suspicious glances along the wall in either 
direction, that there was no danger that their conversation 
should be overheard. 

It is our duty to bless the hand of the Lord, Sister Maria, 
even when it brings us tribulation ! said Sister Giuseppa, 
with a sigh and an upward look. 

It does not become us to judge. Sister Giuseppa ! — especi- 
ally hastily. Though it is true that this new Superior has 
now been there nearly a month ! ” returned Sister Maria, cau- 
tiously. 

“ It needs less to recognise the marks of a true vocation, 
sister ! God forbid that I should presume to censure our 
excellent Bishop, who, if he does make a monstrous mistake 
now and then, does all for the glorj" of God ; but it might 
seem to many minds that it was an unwise determination — I 
would not say prompted by mundane considerations — to seek 
so far afield for a successor to the Mother Veronica, of blessed 
memory ; who, if she was, as all must admit, austere, tyran- 
nical, troublesome, and — God forgive me for saying so — singu- 
larly uncharitable and spiteful’’ — and Sister Giuseppa held up 
her tremulous lean hands towards heaven in a. manner appro- 
priate to the sense of her parenthesis, while she shook her old 
head and protruded her lips in illustration of the sentiment in 
the latter clause of her speech — “yet was, on the whole, a 
very holy woman and had a true vocation.” 

15 


242 


THE NEW ABBESS. 


Doubtless,” returned Sister Maria, ^‘so holy a man as our 
Bishop knew what he was about, and that is enough for us ! 
Nevertheless, at the same time, I confess that I agree entirely 
with you, sister, in feeling tliat it was an injustice to give this 
vacant place to any save you, the oldest among us, the wisest, 
and most prudent — the most humble in discourse — the most 
patient in trouble ” 

“ Hush ! hush ! sister ! It is not well to speak so ! These 
are vain words, and I am far from deserving the praises which 
your holy conscience dictates to you. I certainly might feel 
that an injustice has been done me ; but God forbid ! I 
always say, ‘ God’s will be done ! ’ But I am grieved for your 
sake, Sister Maria, for had I been Abbess, I should at once 
have chosen you for my Vice-Superior; for you liave such an 

excellent heart, so mild and gentle, a chastened tongue ! 

But what is done is done. We must resign ourselves to the 
will of the Lord ! ” 

“ Still it is impossible to deny, Sister Giuseppa, that since 
this stranger has been here, now nearly a month, she has acted 
in a manner to alarm one seriously for the future of the 
house ! ” 

“ Truly it would seem to be the Lord’s will to prove us 
with trials, sister ! ” replied Sister Giuseppa, unctuously. 

Only last Friday she went down into the kitchen, and 
constrained that excellent woman. Sister Guglielmiua, our 
cook, to serve up for the pensioners the only bit of fish that 
had come in, saying that at their tender age they required 
more than us, and that their parents paid for their sufficient 
treatment. Bread and vegetables were our fare ! ” 

Oh ! it is an upsetting of all the foundations of authority 
and holy obedience ! ” exclaimed Sister Giuseppa, with holy 
horror. 

“ Then, again, she has insisted that from the beginning of 
next month we shall abandon the special privilege obtained 
for this house by that holy man, the Chancellor of the diocese, 
of deferring our matins till one hour after sunrise ! That 
seems to me to savor of heresy ! ” 

Surel}’’ ! surely! it is a denying of the dispensing power 1 ” 
ejaculated Sister Giuseppa. 

“ Then the liberty she accords the pensioners ! Our house 
will lose its high credit for holy discipline ! Oh ! it is very 
grievous ! ” 


THE NEW ABBESS. 


243 


But I am on the watch ! Sister Maria ; I am on'^ the 
watch ! ” And a vicious gleam shot from under the old 
woman’s brow as she spoke, ‘'Not for the sake of injuring 
an3'body ! God and the Madonna forbid ! But for the glory 
of God and the credit of the house ! ” 

Bight ! Sister Giuseppa ! and if you can see anything — 
anything j’ou know that ought to reach the ears of that holy 
, man the Chancellor ” 

“ Trust old Sister Giuseppa not to neglect a painful duty — • 
wBen it is for the glor}” of God ! ” 

‘‘ And the credit of the house ! ” 

Ay ! surel}’’, the credit and reputation of our holy house ! ” 

But prudence ! ” 

‘‘ And vigilance ! ” 

For the glory of God ! ” 

“ We understand each other, Sister Maria ! I’ll go and see 
if she has been in the kitchen again this morning ! The Lord 
be with you, sister ! ” said old Giuseppa, turning to go towards 
the convent. 

The Lord watch over you, sister ! ” returned Sister Maria ! 
adding, as she looked after the other hobbling down the sunny 
garden walk, ‘‘a sly old hj^pocrite she is ! and fancies that she 
may yet live to be Abbess ! Well, well ! we shall see ! ” 

A few da^^s after this, the same garden walk was, at a later 
hour of the day, the scene of another conversation, which also 
turned upon the subject natural!}’’ uppermost in the thoughts 
of all the little community — the new Superior. This time the 
subject was considered from a different stand-point. 

It was the hour after the mid-day meal, when, according to 
the custom of the convent, the pensioners were permitted to 
take their recreation and exercise in the garden. Stella, and 
a young Spanish friend, Elisabetta Pinta, were taking advan- 
tage of that relaxation of discipline which had so scandalised 
their elders, to enjoy a long and uninterrupted conversation. 

One thing, Lisa mia, at all events, you cannot den}^,” said 
Stella, and that is, the singular graciousness of her presence. 
It is not only that she is remarkably handsome, but there is a 
sort of unassuming dignity about her that is as different as 
possible from poor old Mother Veronica’s manner.” 

‘‘ Oh, as far as appearances go,” returned the Spanish girl, 
they are altogether in her favor. I admit that I do not 
remember to have ever seen any one whose look and manners 
prepossessed me so strongly in their favor.” 


244 


THE NEW ABBESS. 


Then,” continued Stella, who appeared to be not so much 
defending a decisively-formed opinion, as debating a question 
with a view to arriving at such, ‘^it must be admitted that we 
have already something more than mere appearances to judge 
by. Here we are freely talking together. To what but real 
kind-heartedness in Mother Maddalena are we to attribute the 
change ? ” 

“ That is all very true ! ” rejoined the other girl, thought- 
fully ; “ and then it is impossible not to see that old Sister 
Giuseppa hates her bitterly already, and that is a very good 
sign.” 

“ I confess,” said Stella, that I feel myself drawn towards 
her in a manner that is quite new to me. I never knew a 
mother, Lisa 7nia; I never knew anybody — any woman, who 
seemed to me as if I could love her, as this new Superior does ! 
I know it is unreasonable to form such an opinion of anj’body 
in so short a time. It seems to me like an instinct.” 

“ And I, Stella dear, have not a word to say on the other 
side, except that she is an Abbess ! ” returned Elisabetta. I 
feel the turth of all you say in her favor. I am unable to 
withstand the charm of her manner myself. All I say or feel 
is, that in our position it is well to be cautious in trusting to 
appearances. She is an Abbess ! ” 

Stella was changed by the now nine months of her convent 
imprisonment, not only in disposition, but in appearance. 
Perhaps she was even more attractively lovely than she had 
ever been before a sad thought had ever given shade to the 
unchequered sunshine of her face. The last nine months of 
her life had caused her not only to suffer, but also to think 
more than she had ever done before. The awakening of the 
intelligence, and in no slight degree the trumpet-call, which 
had roused all the dormant energy and force of volition in her 
character, had wonderfully spiritualised the beauty of her fea- 
tures, and added the higher charm of sentiment and sympa- 
thetic intelligence to the Hebe-like unclouded sunlight of her 
face, as it had been before sorrow had ever touched it. She 
seemed, also, to be somewhat taller. Possibly that was only 
the effect of the triflinglj'’ increased slightness of her figure, 
which told of the work confinement, anxiety, and sorrow had 
done on her. 

For all that, the brave heart was still as unconquered as 
ever ! 


THE NEW ABBESS. 


245 


She had declared to herself, at the time of the death of the 
late Superior, that her removal and the appointment of a suc- 
cessor were matters which could have no interest for her. The 
being kept in gaol so much outweighed in importance any 
difference that could be made by a little more or a little less of 
kindness in her gaoler, that all consideration of the latter sort 
seemed to her not worth a thought. She had latterly began 
to think that this might be a mistake. The small amount of 
intercourse which had, as ^’et, taken place between the new 
Superior and the little pensioner, had already began to pro- 
duce the effects on the mind of the latter, which showed 
themselves in the foregoing confidential conversation. 

The rooted and very natural conviction that the Superior of 
their prison-house must, ex officio, and in the nature of things, 
be their enemj^ and tyrant, as surely as the wolf is the enemy 
of the lamb, was beginning with difficulty to give way before 
the magnetic influence of the new Lady Abbess. To Stella, 
the disposition and feelings of this Superior were infinitely 
more important than to her friend. The Spanish girl said 
trulj’’, that to her, whose reclusion would shortly come to its 
previously proposed end, the character of the Superior was 
comparatively unimportant. B.iit to Stella, in the struggle 
between her and her family, and specially in that last phase of 
that struggle which would have to be fought over her accept- 
ance or rejection of the veil — a stage of her troubles which 
she began to think would assuredlj" sooner or later overtake 
her — the part to be taken by the Abbess might be all impor- 
tant. Nevertheless, it had been Stella, as has been seen, 
who had been the first to yield herself to the influence of the 
stranger. 

It was a little later than the date of the conversation be- 
tween the two girls which has been given, about the beginning 
of May, that Stella received a summons to attend the Abbess 
in her apartment. 

It was at a very early hour ; and the large persiane,^ which 
protected the great window of the Abbess’s parlor, and which 
would at a later hour have been necessarily closed, were thrown 
wide open. The window itself, looking on a little balcony was 
also open, giving the parlor the appearance of a large box at 

o The common name for the great green blinds, made of strips of wood, after 
the manner of what we call Venetian blinds, but much larger and heavier, and 
made to shut and open outwards, door-fashion, which the Italian sun renders so 
absolutely necessary a defence. 


246 


THE NEW ABBESS. 


the theatre, the stage and scenery of wliicli was supplied by 
the wide and lovely prospect to the southward, which has been 
already described. A sweet, warm, southern breeze from the 
Perugia hills was blowing in at the window, and had any per- 
son sensitive to the poetry and the influences of external ob- 
jects been permitted to contemplate the room, its accessories, 
and the prospect of country it commanded, he would assuredly 
have been inclined to think that — 

If there be peace in the world to be found, 

The heart that is weary might hope for it here. 

Hearts that are weary, however, have long since discovered 
the vanity of any such expectations. To healthy limbs the 
soft bed may be delicious ; but to the fevered body the softest 
can bring no rest. The observer who could have watched the 
Lady Abbess, as she sat waiting for the interview she had 
appointed, would have had little difficulty in assuring himself 
that there was a weary heart to which all the peace-breathing 
beauty of the scene had brought no peace. 

The new Abbess was sitting in a large, but hard and 
straight-backed, arm-chair close to the open window. Any- 
body on the top of the mountain behind Spoleto, some forty 
miles or more away to the southward, if provided with a suffi- 
ciently powerful telescope, could have seen the full-length sit- 
ting figure of the Abbess framed in the y?er5ia7ze-bordered 
window of the Montepulciano convent. 

The hour was one of those at which the view was especially 
beautiful. For the rising sun, just beginning to gild the tops 
of the main chain of the Apennine to the eastward, was pro- 
ducing an endless and constantly changing variety of effects 
of light and shade over the whole vast extent of the lowlands 
which contain the lakes of Perugia and Bolsena, of Chiusi and 
Montepulciano. One after another the bald tops of the hoary 
old mountains were glorified into a transient semblance of 
youthful warmth by the mocking ray, which anon left each in 
the cold shade to laugh its morning greeting to a neighbor 
bald-head. 

The high ground around Perugia hides from the hill-top of 
Montepulciano the greater part of the still higher but more 
distant main range of the Apennine farther eastward. To the 
south-east some higher tops show themselves on the *far Imri- 
zon, scarcely visible unless when rendered so by snow on their 
summits, or more transiently by the gilding of the rising sun. 


THE NEW ABBESS. 


247 


As the Abbess sat, leaning her cheek on one long slender 
hand, the white taper fingers of which rested on her pale blue- 
veined temples, while her elbow rested on the flat w'ooden arm 
of the large chair, and her eyes, unw’aited on by her thoughts, 
watched the gay jmung sun flouting the ancient grey hills, 
one lofty top of rather remarkable angular sliape was brought 
into temporary prominence, and seemed by its appearance to 
attract her absent thoughts. 

She sighed deeply, and held forth the hand on which she 
was not leaning with the palm turned to the window, as if to 
shut out from her eyes the view of that particular hill-top, 
while she moved her liead in the opposite direction. In a few 
minutes the ray had passed, and the remarkably shaped hill 
had retired into cold obscurity. 

“Not long!” said the Abbess, in a sad, gentle voice, shak- 
ing her head slowl}^, while two large tears gathered in her eyes. 
“ Not long ! ” she said ; and these were the onlj^ words she 
uttered. The mountain-top which had seemed thus singularly 
to attract her attention, was one of that part of the chain of 
the Apennines immediately behind Foligno. It rears its 
strangely-shaped head on one side of the pass, by which the 
road crosses the mountains from that city into the Romagna, 
and is a prominent object in that part of the great valley of 
the Tiber. 

The new Abbess of Santa Filomena w^as a remarkable 
woman in appearance. The two girls, Stella and her Spanish 
friend, have already told us that she was singularly handsome. 
She was not at that period above forty years old ; and her 
more than usual height and remarkable grace of action and 
attitude gave a character of peculiar dignity to her presence, 
which assorted well with her present position. The mild sad- 
ness which habitually rested on the regular but somewhat 
attenuated features of her perfectly pale oval face, and which 
seemed to exclude the possibility of rigor or severity, might 
perhaps have been deemed by her ecclesiastical superiors less 
satisfactorily adapted to it. There was a certain air, too, of 
almost listless languor pervading the graceful movements of 
her elegantly-formed figure, w'hich might have seemed to 
argue the absence of a sufficient amount of that unimpas- 
sioned but unwearying energy, which the strong-handed co- 
ercion of human wills demands. On the whole, it was diffi- 
cult, as Stella had found it, and declared it to be, to look on 


248 


THE NEW ABBESS. 


the Abbess without feeling attracted towards her, and acquir- 
ing the conviction that she was a woman to be loved rather 
than feared. 

When Stella entered the room in which the Abbess was sit- 
ting, the latter was still absorbed in the thoughts, whatever 
they were, which had been occupjdng her, and was not roused 
from her reverie by the noiseless entrance of the little pen- 
sioner. Stella came in front of the great chair, therefore, be- 
tween the Abbess and the window, and stooped down, about 
to kiss the holy mother’s hand. But the latter, as Stella bent 
forward her gracious head, placed her hand upon it caressingly, 
and, leaning forward in her chair, prevented the young girl’s 
intention by kissing her on the forehead. 

“ Sit there, my daughter,” said the Abbess, pointing to a 
chair on the other side of a small table near her, after a minute’s 
pause, during which Stella, blushing with pleasure at the man- 
ner of her reception, had remained standing in front of the 
large arm-chair, while the Abbess bent a glance of benevolent 
but inquiring scrutiny on the saddened young face before her. 

Your name, my child, is ? ” 

Stella Altamari, your reverence,” answered Stella, using 
the accustomed title given by a nun to the superior of her con- 
vent. 

Do not call me so ; the title does not please me, Stella ! 
You may call me Mother ; but do not follow the silly fashion 
of adding ‘Holy’ to a title already in itself sufficiently sacred. 
Will you oblige me in this, Stella ? ” 

“ Yes, my mother ! ” said Stella, scarcely above her breath. 

“ I have sent for jmu, my daughter,” resumed the Abbess, 

to speak to jmu with reference to a letter I have received 
from your uncle, the Canonico Adalberto Altamari. It is ne- 
cessary for me to speak to you on the subject of this letter, be- 
fore I have learned to know you, and before I have had an op- 
portunit}" of inspiring you, my daughter, with confidence in 
me.” 

Stella attempted, not very successfullj’’, to mutter something 
of a protest that such was not the case ; and the Abbess pro- 
ceeded : 

“ I fear, my daughter, that your case is no exception to the 
general rule, which shows that sorrow in some form or other 
is the recruiting agent of convents. Will 3mu give me 3mur 
statement of the causes which led to j'our becoming an inmate 
here.” 


THE NEW ABBESS. 


249 


Madre replied Stella, obeying the directions she had 

received respecting the manner in which the new Superior 
chose to be addressed, “ I am an orphan. I was brought up 
by my aunt, the Contessa Zenobia Altamari. She and my 
uncle, the Canonico, wish me to make a marriage to which I 
cannot consent. I am sent here for refusing to comply with 
their wishes.” 

“ You have been here more than nine months, I find. Are 
you at all more disposed, mj’- daughter, to obey your legal 
guardian in the matter of your marriage, than when you in 
the first instance refused to do so? ” 

Stella shook her pretty little head, sadly and gravely, as she 
replied : “ I am not, my mother ! I shall never be so ! ” 

“ Have you been happy, my daughter,” asked the Superior 
again, after a pause, during which she seemed plunged in 
thought — “ have you been at least tranquil and at peace, dur- 
ing the months you have passed within these walls ? ” 

“ I have not been happy, my mother; I have been very un- 
happy all the time,” said Stella, while a tear stole down her 
no longer blooming cheek, at the thought of the long, long 
hours of her captivity. 

“ Are jmu disposed, my daughter, to accept the alternative 
of becoming a professed member of this house, rather than ac- 
cede to the proposals made to you ? ” 

Madre mia!” exclaimed poor Stella, in an accent of dis- 
tress, “ I am not disposed to accept any such alternative. I 
have no vocation to become a nun. My only wish and hope is 
to leave this convent. Is it not the case, my mother, that 
those who take the veil ought to choose cloister life with their 
own free will ? ” 

Assuredl}^ such is the case, my daughter. I am requested 
by the Canon, your uncle — perhaps I ought to say, ‘ direct- 
ed,’ ” added the Abbess, with a slightly perceptible tone of 
bitterness in her voice, “ to set forth to you the assumption of 
the veil in this convent as the only alternative of obedience to 
your guardians in the matter of your marriage. But, without 
taking upon me at present to offer you any advice respecting 
the latter alternative, I am constrained, in obedience to a 
higher obligation, to declare to j’^ou that it would be my 
bounden duty, or that of any other person filling a similar 
position, absolutely to refuse to admit you to make your pro- 
fession, without being well assured that it is your matured and 
serious wish to do so.” 


250 


THE NEW ABBESS. 


^^Then I cannot be constrained against my will to become a 
nun, my mother ? asked Stella, eagerly. 

“ Many unhappy women, daughter, have been constrained 
against their will to become nuns, by tlireats, by weariness, by 
fear, by loss of hope. They have not possessed — or not re- 
tained, God help them ! — sufficient courage to resist. She who 
has such courage cannot be compelled to take the veil. The 
act must be your own.’’ 

“ Oh, thanks ! thanks ! my mother ; in that case, I can an- 
swer clearly that I shall never become a nun.” 

Nor will jmu accept the marriage proposed to you by your 
family ? ” asked the Abbess again, after another thoughtful 
pause. 

“ Oh, my mother ! that would be worse — far worse ! In- 
deed, indeed you do not know ! They cannot have told you 
all the truth. No ! Never, never, never ! ” 

“My child!” answered the Abbess, kindly, rising as she 
spoke, and coming in front of Stella, “ as jmu say, I do not 
know. Your family have not communicated anything to me, 
beyond the facts that an honorable marriage has been proposed 
to you, which you unreasonably and rebelliously reject, and 
that your guardians are not disposed to allow you any other 
alternative, save compliance with their wishes or the veil. It 
is desired that I should enforce on you the necessity of choosing 
one of these two. But my duty and my conscience compel me 
to tell you that you must not, and cannot, choose the latter in 
opposition to your own intimate wishes and convictions. With 
regard to the former, I am unable to attempt giving you any 
counsel, because I am in entire ignorance of all the circum- 
stances of the case.” 

Stella did not rise, as she ought to have done according to 
the convent code of etiquette, which, indeed, had been already 
sufficiently set at naught by her, sitting at all in the presence 
of the Abbess. She remained seated ; and looked piteousl}’’ 
and pleadingly up into the sympathising face of the tall, slight 
figure bending over her, as she said : “ You do not think, 
then, mother, that under all circumstances and in every case, 
it is the bounden duty of a young girl to accept any marriage 
that her friends may propose to her ? ” 

She clasped her hands as she ceased speaking, with a ges- 
ture of earnest appeal, as if to the arbiter of her fate. 

The Abbess did not reply immediately j but, turning away 


THE NEW ABBESS. 


251 


from the suppliant figure before lier to the open window, 
seemed for a while to be plunged in deep thought. At last 
she said : 

Come hither, my child ! 

Stella rose, and advanced a few paces towards the open 
window. 

“ Here, to my side ! ” continued the Abbess, who was stand- 
ing close to the sill of the window, which opened, as has been 
said, on a little balcony. 

Stella did as she was bid, timidly, and not without a mani- 
festation of surprise in her manner. 

The Abbess took her little trembling hand in hers, and 
looked fixedly into her face yet a minute before she spoke : 

I can have no hesitation, my dear child,” she said at 
length, ‘Mn telling jmu that no girl is bound under all circum- 
stances to acquiesce in any proposal of marriage that maj” be 
made to her, even though it were urged on her to do so by her 
own parents, instead of, as in your case, by her guardians only. 
No girl should be persuaded to marry against the inclination 
of her heart. To do so is a sin against God, and against na- 
ture. Thus much is clear. But, mj" daughter, it is the duty 
of any young person in the unhappy position of being required 
by those in authority over her to act in opposition to her own 
inclinations in this matter, to question those inclinations care- 
fully ; to examine the grounds on which they rest; to ascer- 
tain, as far as serious self-investigation will enable her to do, 
whether, indeed, her opposition to the wishes of those who 
must be presumed to be interested in her welfare, be based on 
any reasonable grounds, or whether it may arise from the 
thoughtless petulance of an inexperienced child — a mere ca- 
price, which, if yielded to, may cause the bitter repentance of 
many a future year.” 

Stella shook her head sadly as the Abbess spoke ; and when 
she ceased, looked up with clear and frank eyes to meet the 
scrutinising look of the Superior. 

Madre miaP^ she said, “I have not been influenced by 
girlish caprice. I abhor the man whom I am bid to accept 
as my husband. My guardians, you say, my mother, must be 
presumed to be anxious for mj’- welfare. No doubt they are 
so, as they understand my welfare. They wish me to be 
enormously rich. The person they want me to marry is very 
wealth3\ He has vast estates, as big, I believe, or bigger 


252 


THE NEW ABBESS. 


than those of my family. My guardians are very desirous of 
joining all these estates together. But thej^ do not think of 
what I myself should become ! My mother, I believe that 
the man whom they want me to many, has no quality that 
should conciliate love. It is at all events true, that to me he 
is hateful in the highest degree. And — pardon me, my 
mother, for saying so — but not even in compliance with your 
counsel could I ever consent to marry the Marchese Alfonso 
Malatesta.” 

Stella felt the fingers of the Abbess’s hand, which had 
held hers while she had been speaking, close on it with a con- 
vulsive grasp, as the last words e#I )ed from her lips. The 
tall and somewhat drooping figure of the Abbess suddenly 
stiffened itself into a rigidly upright attitude ; the face and 
even the lips became lividly pale ; and after remaining thus 
as it were transfixed for a few instants, assisting herself by her 
hold on Stella’s hand, she sank into the large chair from which 
she had risen. Her head fell back on the chair, and she closed 
her eyes, while the grasp which she had all this while kept on 
Stella’s hand was loosened. 

Stella feared that the Abbess had fainted, and availed her- 
self of the relaxation of the grasp of her hand to seek for 
water in the chamber which adjoined the Superiors sitting- 
room. 

^he had returned with a glass of water in her hand, and 
was standing with it, hanging over the Abbess, uncertain 
whether she had absolutely fainted, or was still conscious, 
when a tap was heard at the door. 

The Abbess, whatever may have been the feeling which 
moved her thus strongly, had not lost her consciousness, or 
even presence of mind. For, before Stella could decide whether 
it behooved her to bid the applicant for admission enter, the 
Superior raised herself in the chair, and, though still deadly 
pale, answered, in her usual firm but gentle voice : 

“ You may enter ! ” 

The door was opened, even as the words passed her lips, in 
a manner which indicated that had the permission to come in 
been delaj’-ed, the applicant would not have waited for it; and 
Sister Giuseppa advanced one step into the room. 

“ I came, your Keverence,” said the old woman, crossing her 
arms upon her bosom and bowing as she spoke, ‘Go inform 
you, as it was my duty to do, that the pensioner Stella was not 


MEMORY VERSUS HOPE. 


253 


with the other pensioners at the spiritual exercises after matins. 
I was not aware that she was with 3’our reverence, for no such 
intimation was made to me — as it ought to have been.” 

It is well, Sister Giuseppa ; j'ou may retire.” 

“ Will your reverence permit me to mention, that when the 
Mother Veronica of blessed memorj’ had occasion to speak 
with# any of the pensioners in this room, it was her habit to 
close the blinds of that window.” 

“ Thank 3’ou, I prefer to keep the blinds open.” 

The old nun shot a malignant glance at her Superior, and 
again bowing in silence, left the room. 

“ I will now dismiss you also, m}’- dear child,” said the 
Abbess. We will speak together again before long. In the 
mean while,. I will pray, my child, that the difiSculties in your 
position may be smoothed for you.” 

Tlie Abbess, instead of dismissing her with the usual formal 
benediction, imparted by a flourish of the fingers, again placed 
her hand on the sun-bright tresses of Stella’s head, and pressed 
her lips to her forehead. 


CHAPTER V. 

MEMORY VERSUS HOPE. 

On the evening of the da}?’ after that on which the above 
conversation between Stella and the Abbess had taken place, 
at the hour after the evening meal, old Sister Giuseppa and 
Sister Maria found themselves alone together in the sort of 
ante-room which preceded the refectory. 

I tell you. Sister Maria, there is something wrong. It is 
not to be tolerated that a Mother Superior should behave in 
that way to a pensioner. I tell you, I saw her standing lean- 
ing over the girl, and she remained sitting ! ” 

‘‘ Holy Virgin ! what is the world coming to. Sister Giu- 
seppa ! ” 

“ It is enough for us poor nuns,” rejoined old Giuseppa, 
to think what our convent is coming to! Steps must be 
taken. Sister Maria ! — steps must be taken ! To think, too, 
that there was the great window wide open, and the Superior 


254 


MEMORY VERSUS HOPE. 


a tempting the pensioner with showing her all the kingdoms 
of the world, and the glory thereof ! God forgive me ! I 
could not help speaking to her a word in season. She told 
me, forsooth, that she preferred it so. ! 

Oh ! it is very shameless, Sister Giuseppa ! Surely we 
should altogether neglect our duty to ourselves and to this 
house if we did not keep that holy man the Chancellor inform- 
ed of such things as these.” 

“ I keep my eyes open ! Sister Maria, never fear ! Thank 
God ! I know my duty ; and though it is very painful to me 
to do anything that may give pain to others, when the glory 
to God is concerned I shall not shrink from it. Yes, yes ! we 
shall see what the Chancellor thinks of superiors who talk 
standing to pensioners sitting down, and who have them in 
their room to tempt them with the world and the fairness 
thereof! We shall see I” 

Sister Giuseppa,” said a younger nun, coming up at that 
moment, “ the Holy Mother desires that the pensioner Stella 
may attend her in her room to-morrow morning immediately 
after matins, and she directed that you should be informed of 
her orders.” 

Oh ! very well. Sister Assunta ! It is very well ! Inform 
the pensioner Stella of the Superior’s wish. What do you 
think now. Sister Maria ? ” 

“ I am but a simple nun. Sister Giuseppa ; I have not your 
prudence ! I do not know what to think ! but it is very shock- 
ing. Santa Orsola, ora 'pro nobis ! ” 

We shall see ! we shall see ! ” muttered old Sister Giu- 
seppa. 

Next morning, at the same hour as that of her previous in- 
terview, Stella again went to the apartment of the Abbess, 
and found it and her, despite the w'ord in season of Sister 
Giuseppa, exactly as they had been on the former occasion. 
She was very pale, paler even, Stella thought, than usual ; and 
after she had received her and caused her to be seated on the 
other side of the little table in front of the window, as before, 
she remained silent and apparently buried in thought for some 
time. 

At length, raising her head from her hand, on which it had 
been resting, she said : 

“ You were telling me, my dear child, that your repugnance 
to the marriage proposed to you with the Marches® Alfonso 


MEMORY VERSUS HOPE. 255 

IMalatesta is invincible. Do you know how old a man is the 
March ese ? 

“ 1 do not know exactly, my mother ; I should suppose, 
from what I have heard, that he cannot be much more than 
twenty. But oh ! my mother, there is not any possibility that 
he should ever become more acceptable to me ! ” 

The young man, I presume, is the son of the Marchese 
Cesare Malatesta of Fermo,’’ said the Abbess, witli a little 
tremor in her voice ; “I have often heard of the family as one 
of very large possessions not far from Ascoli, where all my 
cloister life was passed, till my superiors called me to preside 
over tliis convent.” 

“ Yes,” said Stella, pensivel}”, the family is very rich, I 
believe ; but will that suffice to make my happiness ? ” 

“ Assuredly it will not, my daughter. The young man 
himself, you say, is not such as you can love ? ” 

“ Indeed, my mother, he is not ! He appeared to me insig- 
nificant both in mind and person ; — a poor weak, mean crea- 
ture in both ! ” 

“ One, it is to be feared, whom you could not have loved 
under any circumstances ! Was your appreciation of these 
deficiencies quickened, perhaps, by contrasting them with the 
merits of another?” 

“ M}" mother !” stammered Stella, casting her eyes on 

the ground, and blushing painfully all over her face and neck. 

“Nay ! my daughter,” said the Abbess, who of course saw 
the truth of the matter at a glance, “ I will not press you for 
any confidence which you do not feel inclined to bestow on 
me. Nor is any confession on the subject needed to justify 
me in telling jmu, that it is clear to me that it can never be 
jmur duty to accept as a husband one towards whom your 
feelings are what you have described them. But m3' child, 
the power of following the dictates of our own hearts and 
judgment in these matters does not alwa3's serve to secure 
happiness ! It is a fearful risk, when a girl pushing herself 
adrift from all the moorings of her life, entrusts her all to the 
keeping of a man, merely on the faith of the feelings of her 
own heart ! Men, my child, are cruellj', horribly deceitful ; 
and women’s hearts are very easil3' deceived ! ” 

“ It seems to me, m3' mother, if you will pardon my bold- 
ness in telling you my girlish thoughts ” 

“ Tell me them freely, m3' daughter ! The real workings of 
a guileless mind are alwa3’s valuable.” 


256 


MEMORY VERSUS HOPE. 


I was going to say, my mother, that as far as I can see, 
such words of caution as you were speaking just now, to be of 
any avail, should be spoken to those who have never loved. 
To the others it is too late ! Who could believe in the possi- 
bility of being deceived by him whom they love ? ’’ 

“ My child, my child ! ’’ said the Abbess, rising from her 
seat, and coming in front of Stella, so as to look down into the 
candid face, and sad but clear and guileless eyes of the young 
girl; ‘^my child, you have put the poisoned chalice to your 
lips and have drunk ! You have drunk that sweet intoxicat- 
ing draught ! Come hither, my child,” continued the Ab- 
bess, turning to the wdndow, and beckoning Stella to stand by 
her side. She raised her hand as pointing to the magnificent 
prospect beneath them, and seemed on the point of speaking ; 
but paused as her eye ran over the circuit of the immense 
horizon. She allowed it to rest on that part of the prospect 
to the eastward, w'here the remarkablj’ shaped mountain above 
Poligno had on the previously recorded occasion attracted her 
gaze. The lofty top was just visible ; but it was not promi- 
nent in the landscape as it had been for a few minutes on that 
morning, for it was in shade. 

After yielding for a moment to her reverie, she continued, 
apparently not without an effort : 

“There is the world, my child ! It is very beautiful, very 
bright ! teeming with promises of life and love ! Here, my 
child, within these sombre walls is the convent, the contrary 
to the world. It is cold, unlovely, silent ! But within these 
walls despair may in time be charmed into lethargy ; and 
peace — bare peace — be w^elcomed as a refuge from the agony 
of a love deceived ! ” 

Madre mia ! said Stella, taking, as she spoke, the hand 
of the Abbess, and pressing it to her bosom, “ it seems to me 
that it would be making a bad return for the kindness you 
have shown me, and all the interest you are now taking in my 
fate, if I W'ere to answer you aught else than the simple truth, 
truth, even though it shows me bold and self-willed enough to 
reject all the most kindly-meant warning. But I cannot help 
it, and can only tell the truth. And, dear mother, the truth 
is, that if my happiness here and hereafter, my life, my soul, 
were in the hollow of my hand, I could give them all, all, all 

into his keeping ” She checked herself suddenly, but a 

moment’s reflection led her judgment to acquiesce in what her 


MEMORY VERSUS HOPE. 


257 


heart had done, and she continued, more calmly, hut not less 
earnestly than before : ‘‘ Yes ! it is true, my mother ! Forgive 
me if it seems too bold in me to say so ; but it is true, tiiat if 
I had a thousand times more than all I have or ever can have 
to give, I would give all without a tiiought or pause, ay, 
though all the wise ones of tlie world were whispering doubts 
and cautions in my ear ! Is it wrong, mad^'e mia^'’ she add- 
ed, submissively and in a deprecating tone, to feel thus ?” 

But the Abbess only answered -with a sigh, as she looked 
earnestly at her : You love much, my daughter ! ” 

And Stella, who had never before known tlie comfort of 
pouring out her heart’s treasured passion to a kindred human 
heart, and who thirsted for its sympathy, asked again, almost 
in whispered words : 

Is it wrong, my mother, to feel thus ?” 

Again the Abbess paused, and appeared to be making an 
effort to speak the words that should contain a reply to the 
question thus a second time put to her. She let her eyes fall 
to the ground, and her arms droop pendent on either side of 
her tall, slender figure, and her lips became pale, as she an- 
swered at last : 

“ If it be sin, my daughter, to have felt as you feel, a fellow- 
sinner is standing by your side ! ” 

‘‘ My mother ! ” 

It is even so, my daughter ! — Listen to me, Stella,” she 
continued, after a pause ; “ I told you that I did not wish to 
press you to give me jmur confidence, unless your heart dic- 
tated to yovi to do so. I will, however, give you mine ; for I 
know not why I should resist the feeling of sympathy which 
draws me towards you. It will be the first time,” she added, 
speaking more to herself than to her companion, “ that I 
have ever shaped into words the haunting thoughts of twenty 
years. 

“ You tell me, Stella, that if your life, j’-our fate, your very 
soul, were in the hollow of your hand, you would give them 
all, all, without a moment’s pause or shadow of misgiving, into 
the keeping of him you love. Child, I did that thing ! I did 
entrust my absolute all to the good faith of one, whom I loved 
as well — 3’es ! it seems strange, does it not ? whom I, the 
Abbess, loved as well as you can love ! Does it not seem in- 
credible to jmu that this dried-up heart should have held the 
same dear secret that yours hoards now, as though the like 
16 


258 


MEMORY VERSUS HOPE. 


was never felt before ? Look at those love-lorn features of 
successive generations of desolate-hearted women!” slie con- 
tinued, pointing to the grim portraits of departed Abbesses- 
banging on the walls ; tliey look fit heroines for a love-tale, 
do they not ! Do jmu think that none of tliose walked the 
same path to come to the same goal ? I tell you, child, tluit 
that rose-strewn love-path is paved beneath the rose-leaves 
with women’s broken hearts 1 And, at the end of it — an end 
soon reached — for the more fortunate weaklings lies the grave; 
for the helpless one, who cannot die, the living grave of the 
convent ! But not so with my Tito, Pippo, Carlo, Cecco, 
you’ll say — — ” 

“Not so with Giulio!” interposed Stella, with quiet little 
silver-voiced firmness, as though intolerant of hearing the idol 
of her worship designated in this M. or N. sort of fashion. 

“ Giulio ! ” echoed the Abbess, with a little start and a 
sharp glance at Stella ; but in the next instant her mind 
dropped the idea that had for a moment arrested it, and re- 
turned to its previous course of thought. 

“ Well, Giulio, be it ! Not so with my Giulio ! you’ll say. 
And should not I have said and sworn, not so with my Cesare! 
How could I mistrust? I loved! We were married! See 
how fortunate I was, my child ! I was the daughter of a poor 
lone widow ; he was the son of a wealthy noble ; there was no- 
body to send me into a distant convent to balk my will ; and 
we were married. We went away together, my love and I, 
awa}’ into that bright and sunny world, to live for our love 
and for each other. It was a beautiful spot he took me to ; 
the most beautiful spot, I think, I ever saw ! Come here, 
child ! here, close to me ! Now look out to the mountains ! 
there ! just to the right of those lone pine-trees on the top of 
that hill on which the sunbeam is resting. Do you not see a 
singular-looking angularly-shaped mountain-head, the highest 
of that part of the chain ? ” 

“ Yes! now, my mother, I see it. The sun is just begin- 
ning to touch its top.” 

“ Exactly so, my child ! It will be left in shade soon ; but 
the sun always returns to it. It was different with me! 
Exactly at the foot of that mountain, where the little stream 
from its side comes out into the plain through a little valley, 
all green and cool, is the place to which he took me. It is 
called Belfiore. A few short months only, a very few, Stella, 


MEMORY VERSUS HOPE. 


259 


my lifetime lasted. For that time was the whole of it ! And 
oh ! my child, may you be spared tlie agony I then endured ! 
Pray to God, m}’- daughter, that you may never know tlie 
sharp, startling pang of the first doubt, the brave, loyal, but 
unavailing struggle against growing conviction ; the desperate 
fight against the evidence of facts, the irresistible certainty 
that all is lost, that the heart-wreck is complete, and then the 
dull cold void of final, unutterable despair ! I tell you — 
strive if possible to believe it, for it is true — I tell you, that 
my love was as your love is, my trust as your trust, my heart 
tender, brave, and loyal as yours ; and that was the cup that 
young Love presented to my girlish lips, the deadly draught to 
be savored, each bitter drop by drop, even to the dregs. 
There — there I learned my lesson and my heart died its slow 
death by torture, down in that beautiful world there — there, 
where the false mocking sunshine is even now painting over 
the horrible place with luring beauty ! 

“ Then, my Stella, the refuge of the cold dull cloister was 
.only a little less welcome than that of the grave the clois- 

ter, where such memories should have no place, my child ! and 
where I had thought never again, at least in words, to have 
recalled them ! 

The Abbess paused, raised one long thin hand to her brow, 
and closing her eyes, as she turned her face awaj’’ from the 
sunlit outside view towards the inner part of the room. Her 
lip was quivering ; and the color, which emotion had called 
into her cheeks, and which made her look, Stella thought, 
exceedingly beautiful, gradually faded out. 

Stella was profoundly touched, both by sympathy for the 
sorrows of a heart whose wounds the healing of twenty 3’'ears 
of grave-like peace had so evidently failed to close, and by 
gratitude for the feeling which had led the unhappy Abbess 
to open to her the prison-chamber of her heart in the manner 
she had done. It was impossible for her not to feel keenly 
that henceforth there was a tie between their hearts of a very 
different kind from any which Stella would have dreamed of 
being possible between herself and the Superior of her convent. 
From henceforth they were friends, woman’s heart to woman’s 
heart. 

Stella took the other hand of the Abbess, which was hang- 
ing listlessly by her side, in both of hers, and raised it timidly 
to her lips, as she drew close to her companion’s side, and 


260 


MEMORY VERSUS HOPE. 


loolved np through her tears into the quivering but tearless 
face of the Superior with an expression of tender sympathy, 
which was inexpressibly sweet to that poor lonely heart 
withered by the atroph}’’ of twenty years, yet still uncon- 
sciously athirst for human love. 

“Thanks ! dear child ! Don’t speak ! — I know ! — You have 
given a cup of water — so sweet ! — in the name of the Merciful 
One, to a weary wayfarer in the desert ! ” 

As she spoke, she put her arm around Stella’s waist, and 
drawing her close to her side, stooped her face from superior 
height, and folding the gracious young bead to her bosom, 
pressed her lips to her forehead. 

After a minute or two she spoke again : 

“ But, Stella,” she said, in almost a whisper, “ all that was 
not enough ! It was not the worst — no, I think not the worst,” 
she added, as if the poor lacerated heart were balancing one 
agony against another. “ When my husband abandoned me 
— he was my husband ! ” — she interposed in a raised and 
almost defiant voice ; and then continued in a low, piteous 
tone, scarcely above a whisper, “ he abandoned not one poor 
ruined creature only ! — I had a son ! There, during those hor- 
rible weeks, while despair was freezing the blood around my 
heart, I was conscious of the new life within me ! I was the 
mother of a son ! He was taken from me — Oh ! my heart ! ” 
she exclaimed, clutching her bosom with her hand, as if suffer- 
ing the pang of a physical spasm — “ he was taken awaj^, when 
I was hurried to my convent burial — I was a mother ! In all 
probability, I did not long remain so ! ” 

“ Alas ! alas ! what sorrow has been yours, my mother ! ” 
exclaimed Stella ; “ and were no tidings,” she added, after a 
pause, “ ever brought to j’-ou of him ? ” asked Stella. 

“ Do tidings come within these walls ? ” asked the Abbess, 
in reply ; “ do tidings come to the grave from the living world ? 
Above all,” she went on, with increasing bitterness, “ do tid- 
ings of nuns’ children reach them in their cloister ! No, my 
child, no word of the babe that was torn from m}’- bosom has 
come to me, from that long, long distant time to this da3^ 
Never before has my tongue spoken to living ear of that great 
undying grief ! ” 

“ But, my mother,” said Stella, very timidly, after a pause 
of some minutes, “ how could your husband — married to you 
— abandon you ? How could you, a married woman, be re- 
ceived into a convent ? ” 


MEMORY VERSUS HOPE. 


261 


marriage was displeasing to the fomily of my hus- 
band. I have told you that he was a wealthy noble. Tliey 
made out somehow, I know not what, that the marriage was 
illegal, — that it was no marriage at all, — that the Marcheso 
was free, — free to marry another woman, — as he did before 
the first tears of my agony were dry on my cheek ! ” 

“ Can such things be ! ’’ ejaculated Stella, dismayed at the 
tale unfolded to her; “can it be, that a marriage made by 
Holy Church can be unmade to suit the pleasure of the rich 
and powerful ! ” 

“ Doubtless the law, man’s law, my child, was against me. 
There was some irregularity. The marriage was a clandes- 
tine one, according to the wishes of my husband. He made 
all the arrangements. I trusted to him, Stella; trusted to Ins 
faith, his honor, his love, as I would trust my soul in the 
hands of its Creator ! And it was for the sake of the warn- 
ing to you, my child, that lies in the bankruptcy of honor, 
faith, and love, that I have brought myself to speak of woes 
which have lain dumb at the bottom of my heart for twenty 
.years ; — not for the sake of your sweet, loving pity, mj^- child, 
though that is infinitely precious to me, but for the sake of 
the warning, Stella — for the warning!” 

Stella shook her head with a grave expression of inflexible 
conviction, as she said : 

Madre mia carissima ! It seems so ungrateful, so pre- 
sumptuous of me ; I know that it must seem so. And yet, 
madre mia, it would not be honest to you, nor lo3'al to in^’’ 
faith, if I suflered you to imagine that anj’’ such warning 
could avail anj'thing with me. One worthless man wrecked 
your happiness. But if twenty thousand similar cases were 
told me, I should j-et have made no step towards thinking it 
possible that my Giulio could be such an one ! ” 

“ Giulio again ! ” said the Abbess, dreamily ! ” 

“ Yes ! madre mia; Giulio is the name of him I love. Is it 
not a sweet name ? Giulio mio ! Giulio mio ! ” repeated Stella, 
clasping her hands, and pressing them to her bosom, as if for 
the mere pleasure of hearing the sound of the beloved name, 

“ And what is the cause which makes your guardians, my 
daughter, object to him so invincibly ?” 

“ I do not know that they would so invincibly object, my 
mother, if it were not for the prospect of that other hateful 
marriage. It is true that he is not rich ; and — and I believe 


262 


MEMORY VERSUS HOPE. 


— that is to say, I know — he told me himself — for he is the 
very soul of honor and candor, — that he is,” — and Stella 
lowered her voice to a whisper, — “ what is called an illegiti- 
mate son.” 

“Ha!” cried the Abbess, with a sharp, sudden look at 
Stella ; “ of what country ? ” 

“ He is a captain in the Piedmontese arm}’’, and has so 
greatly distinguished himself that he lias every reason to ex- 
pect his promotion,” answered Stella, unwittingly leading the 
Abbess into error by the indirectness of her answer to the 
question of what country her lover was. The latter, of course, 
had been prompted by a sudden thought, which had flitted for 
a moment across her mind, to ask respecting the native country 
of this illegitimate Giidio ; but Stella’s mind was naturally 
full of the circumstances which could present her lover in the 
most favorable light. 

“ Ah, Piedmontese,” rejoined the Abbess, with a sigh ; “ but 
tell me, Stella, have you had opportunities of studying his 
character ? Have you tried to read his heart ? ” 

The Abbess would have said tliat all that life of tvrenty 
years ago, with its every train of thought not less than its 
every thrill of passion, was as present to her heart and brain 
at that present speaking as it had been while it was actually 
passing. But had she sought to recall with accuracy the studies 
she had made of what lay beneath that surface which Cesare 
Malatesta had made — or which nature had made for him — so 
fair-seeming, she might, perhaps, have been reminded how 
great difficulty is found by maiden survejmrs of such territo- 
ries in distinguishing surface from sub-surface explorations. 
Stella, in truth, had proceeded at that critical moment of a 
woman’s life, the giving of her first love, far more cautiously 
and less impulsively than Maddalena Tacca had done. More 
cultivated in intelligence and better educated, thanks mainly to 
her friend Terese Palmieri, than the poor Bolognese widow’s 
child, it was to be expected that she should do so. But Stella, 
gay, laughter-loving, light-hearted, little fairy, as she was at 
that time, had more sagely considered what she was doing 
wdien she gave her heart to Giulio Malatesta, than many a 
graver damsel does ere she abdicates the sovereignty of her 
own soul. Stella, as was said, in speaking of that period of 
her life, had “ walked into love,” and had walked with her 
eyes open. She was far more justified than the majority of 


MEMORY VERSUS HOPE. 


263 


girls would have been in replying to the questions of the 
Abbess. 

“ Indeed, indeed, madre mia, T strove to do so ; and I think 
I succeeded. Besides, I have heard much from others. I know 
how he has acted on other occasions. I know how he is es- 
teemed by his friends and superiors. I know the nobleness of 
his feelings and opinions on the great questions which in these 
days ought to fill so large a part of every Italian man’s 
thoughts. I know ” 

“ All this is well, all excellently well, my eloquent little 
advocate,” said the Abbess, placing her hand affectionately 
on Stella’s head, and smiling with a pale sad smile as she 
looked into her face, for the moment bright with its former 
radiance from the eager emotion of her pleading — “ all excel- 
lently well ! But tell me, my Stella,” continued the Abbess, 
with a pensive and almost dreamy sadness — ‘‘tell me if you 
know what your Giulio is as a son ? That is a great test, 

perhaps the safest of all especially in such a case as 

his.” 

“ Ah ! madre m.ia ! madre mia ! ” answered Stella, heaving 
a great sigh. “ There you touch the greatest misfortune of my 
poor Giulio’s life. He would be, I am sure, as sure as I can 
be of my own heart, that he would be such a son to an un- 
happy and unfortunate mother, as the happiest and proudest 
mother would think herself blessed in possessing ! But, alas ! 
he has never known his mother! It is the great unhappiness 
of his life I ” 

A sudden flush passed over the_pale features of the Abbess, 
and she shot a rapid, almost scared glance at Stella. But 
the thought which had darted across her brain passed ; the 
flush died out, and she muttered to herself rather than to her 
companion : 

“ A Piedmontese 

“ That is ” said* Stella ; but the Abbess, busy with her 

own thoughts, did not hear the interruption, and went on: 

“ But tell me, Stella, what makes you so certain that your 
Giulio would prove himself a good son ? ” 

“ How can I doubt it, my mother, when it is the great object 
of his life to discover her; when his greatest fear is that she 
may — alas I it is but too probable — have died without his ever 
having been able to pour the balm of a son’s love into the 
wounds of the heart that has suffered so much ! Ah ! madre 


264 


MEMORY VERSUS HOPE. 


mia, if that unfortunate mother could be discovered, there 
would be a consolation in store for her in the love of such a 
son that would make amends for all her past ! ’’ 

“But have j’ou ever considered, my child, or has he ever 
considered, what the finding of a mother under such circum- 
stances might involve ? He holds an honorable position — he 
seeks to win a wife who occupies a yet more distinguished po- 
sition — he has already enough to struggle against in the fact 
of his unfortunate birth. Have you both considered what 
might follow from the discovery of a mother who might — nay, 
one may saj', who would bring a heritage of shame and dis- 
grace with her? The risk would be a fearful one. If I were 
interested in the happiness of such a marriage as you wish to 
make, my child — and why should I affect to deny that I am 
greatly interested in it, Stella ? — I know not that I should wish 
that your husband’s search for his mother should be successful. 
Her error has left him but too heavy an inheritance of evil as 
it is ! ” 

“ But why is it necessary, my mother,” urged Stella, “ to 
suppose that there must needs liave been disgrace or error ? 
Consider, madre mia, the history jmu have confided to me of 
your own wrongs ! Why ma}'^ it not be that Giulio’s mother 
was equally blameless and equally the victim of the wickedness 
of others ? ” 

“ INIy daughter! ” shaking her head slowly, and with an in- 
finite sadness in her eyes, “ in this world disgrace does not 
follow misconduct only. It is often awarded to misfortune. 
My case was a peculiar one, from special circumstances hardly 
likely to be met with in another. It is most true that I had 
every reason to believe myself a duly wedded wife. But if 
the son, whom I bore to the Marchese Oesare Malatesta ” 

She was interrupted as the words passed her lips by a scream 
rather than an ejaculation from Stella. She sprang to her 
feet as persons will sometimes do from the effect of a gunshot 
wound, but in the next instant had precipitated herself at the 
knees of the Abbess. 

“ What ! what is it you say ? ” she cried, seizing both the 
Abbess’s hands in hers, pressing herself against her knees, and 
looking up with straining eyes into her face ; “ my mother ! 
0 ! my mother 1 ” 

The strength of the sudden emotion was more than she 
could bear j two or three convulsive sobs came bursting up 


MEMORY VERSUS HOPE. 


265 


from her heaving breast, and then she fell into violent hj^steri- 
cal laughter. Tlie Abbess, who understood that the discovery 
of the relationship in which she stood to the father of the man 
whom Stella’s family wished to compel her to many was natn- 
rall}’- a great, and perhaps a painful shock to the young girl, 
but who nevertheless was surprised at the intensity of the 
emotion she manifested, placed her in the great chair near the 
window, and endeavored to calm her. 

But it was some little time before she could sufficiently re- 
gain mastery of herself to speak ; and when she did so, her 
words were too incoherent to explain at once to the Abbess 
the real nature of the discovery which she had made, and on 
the brink of which the Abbess herself was standing. 

“ Oh ! madre mia ! ” she exclaimed, putting an intense ex- 
pression into the words ; and she would have again thrown 
herself at the feet of the Abbess, had not the latter insisted on 
her remaining in the chair; ‘‘ madre mia^ I am so glad ! Oh ! 
Giulio ! he will be so happy ! It seems impossible ! But it is 
true — I feel that it is true ! ” 

‘‘My dear child,” said the Abbess, “you are laboring 
under some strange delusion. I had not intended to mention 
the name which for me sums up in its sound so many bitter 
memories ; but it slipped from me ; and it matters little. But 
do not imagine that the broken tie between the Marchese and 
me can in any way avail to save you from the pursuit of the 
son.” 

“ Oh, mother ! my mother ! that is not it ! Don’t you see 
it ? Giulio ! Does your heart tell you nothing ? ” 

A dim suspicion, a half-formed idea, a vague shadow of the 
coming truth, passed over the mind of the Abbess. It sent all 
the blood back to the heart, and fixed her, as she stood, pale as 
marble and as rigid. 

“ Speak ! ” she said, in a low hoarse tone ; “ for God’s sake, 
speak ! ” 

“ It is Giulio’s mother ! Giulio is your Giulio ! Giulio 
Malatesta ! ” 

******* 

And then it became the turn of Stella to soothe and calm 
the overwrought nerves of her companion. And then the two 
women fell into the sweet tears, and sweeter talk which grew 
out of the feeling of their new relationship ; and forgot for a 
while all the 'difficulties of the position before them. 


266 


A TETE-A-TETE IN THE SACRISTY. 


And then they were startled by the sound of tlie convent 
bell ringing the hour of the Angelus, which reminded them 
that the boarder’s audience of the Abbess had lasted the entire 
morning. 


CHAPTER VI. 

A TETE-A-TETE IN THE SACRISTY. 

It is probable, as has been hinted, that the ecclesiastical 
superiors who had selected Sister Maddalena for promotion 
from the remote convent at Ascoli, to be the Superior of tlie 
Ursulines of Santa Filomena at Montepulciano, had done so 
with the intention of refreshing with a certain modicum of 
greatly-needed new wine those old bottles of theirs, which had 
become terribly musty under the regime of immobility, which 
was now beginning to be shaken. 

The fermentation caused by this new wine in the old Monte- 
pulciano bottles, seemed likely to be greater than the strength 
of them could stand. The old nuns in the Ursuline convent 
were not far wrong in thinking that change of any kind in 
their ways, practices, and habits, was dangerous to them ; as 
change of habits of life mostly is to the old and infirm. 

It was a few days after the discontented members of the 
community had been scandalised anew by the unheard-of 
strangeness of the Holy Mother having been closeted with a 
pensioner of the house during an entire morning, that a more 
orthodox and less unexampled tUe-a~tHe took place in the sa- 
cristy of the convent chapel, at the pleasant evening hour be- 
fore the Ave Maria. The parties were Sister Giuseppa and 
the Reverend Domenico Tondi, the Chancellor of the Diocese ; 
and their confidential conversation was an altogether warrant- 
able, orthodox, and correct proceeding. For, was not the Rev- 
erend Domenico Tondi also the “ Director” of the Ursulines 
of Santa Filomena ? And was not Sister Giuseppa the Vice 
Superior of the convent, no new disposition having been as yet 
taken by the new Abbess to place any other in her stead in 
that position ? 

The sacristy in which these two persons were sitting was a 


A TETE-A-TETE IN THE SACRISTY. 267 

snng-looking room enough, though somewhat gloomy, except 
■wlien the setting sun sent an illuminating gleam athwart it, 
through the one window placed so high in the wall as to afford 
no view of the convent garden on which it opened. It w’as 
entirely lined from floor to ceiling with a series of dark walnut 
wood presses in doable tier, the centre of the doors of which 
were ornamented with large round brass knobs, rubbed up, as 
w’ell as the shining wood around them, to a perfect polish. 
There were two breaks only, besides the window in the conti- 
nuity of this polished walnut-wood lining. One opposite to 
the window extended in a strip, some five feet wide from floor 
to ceiling, and was occupied by a large crucifix above, and by 
a massive faldstool beneath it. The other uncovered space of 
wall extended only half the height of the apartment from the 
floor, the range of presses being carried on without interrup- 
tion above it. And the space thus left was occupied by a little 
conduit of red marble, with a water-cock above it, and a long 
circular towel on a roller by its side. There were two doors, 
also of walnut-wood, and so made as to form to the eye no in- 
terruption to the range of presses. Both of them were in one 
corner of the room. One opened on to the little church, and 
the other on to a corridor communicating with the interior of 
the convent. In the middle of the room was a large, oblong, 
massive table, the space beneath which, instead of being void, 
save for the legs of it, after the fashion of ordinary tables, was 
filled up wdth a series of large drawers. The top of the table 
was covered with a green baize cloth. There were three or 
four straight-backed, square-made arm chairs, with ancient 
stamped leather seats and backs, fairly indicating them to be 
at least three hundred years old ; and there was an old con- 
temporary of theirs — a large and handsome brass brazier, rest- 
ing on an iron tripod, the admirable ornamentation of which 
unmistakably declared its cinquecentista origin. 

The declining sun, as the closing day approached the Ave 
Maria, shot a mellow golden ray through the high window, 
which lay like a great glistening .stripe across the threadbare 
green baize top of the huge table ; sparkled on the brass oi the 
brazier, played on the polished panel of the opposite wall in a 
strange variety of high lights and demi-lights and shadows, 
and concentrated itself on the burnished brazen knob in the 
centre of it with an intensity that made it appear like a ball 
of fire. The great crucifix was left in deep shadow, as were 


268 


A TETE-A-TETE IN THE SACRISTY. 


also the tvYO occupants of the room, who sat side bj” side near 
one end of the table ; and by virtue of the strikingly charac- 
terised harmony of their appearance with the locality and all 
the objects around them, formed a group which might well be 
called picturesque, though it could not be said to possess any of 
the elements of the beautiful. 

The tall, gaunt figure, the hard features, and black brows 
of Sister Giuseppa, are alread}’- known to the reader. Don Do- 
menico Tondi, the Chancellor of the Diocese and Director of 
the Convent, was a dried-up little man, with a head and face 
of a triangular form, with a minimum of brain packed into the 
apex, and a maximum of animalism distending the base, across 
the whole extent of which a wide, lipless mouth, cut like that 
of a toad, was stretched from corner to corner, so near the lower 
side of the triangle as to leave scarcel}’’ any room for a chin. 
Close under this strange wide and short lower jaw, came the 
rim of his ecclesiastical collar, which was of so nearly the same 
3'ellow as the whole of his face, that it needed a close glance to 
see where the dirty skin ended and the dirty linen began. 
The huge shoes on his feet, much larger, apparentl}”, than ne- 
cessary, would hardly have offended the ideas of St. Chiysostom 
upon that subject. The curiously coarse worsted stockings 
above them were not darned, but pieced with fragments of 
brown cloth ; and the black camlet garment next above them 
was almost entirely hidden, as he sat, by a blue checked cotton 
handkerchief, much begrimed with snuff, laid across his knees. 
His cloth waistcoat was also grimy from the same cause from 
top to bottom. 

“ That makes five clear sins, of which four are decidedly 
grave, and two of them probably mortal,” said Don Domeni- 
co, ticking off the bill on the fingers of his left hand, while he 
held a pinch of his favorite dust between the thumb and fore- 
finger of his right ; “ and three opportunities of cardinal vir- 
tues neglected ! ” He was speaking of the short-comings of 
the new Abbess, according to Sister Giuseppa’s report of her 
conduct, the particulars of which he had been sorting, tariff- 
ing, and labelling secundum artem, with the above result. 

‘‘ Oh ! we are not at the end yet, most excellent father ! 
There are things which your holy conscience would never 
dream of, and which I could never bring myself to repeat, if 
it were not for the glory of God and the credit of the house,” 
rejoined Sister Giuseppa, crossing herself as she spoke. 


A TETE-A-TETE IN THE SACRISTY. 


269 


‘‘Eh !” said Don Domenico, sharply, suddenly arresting in 
his newly-awakened interest the hand which was conveying to 
his nose a pinch of snuif ; “ in our position, my dear sister in 
Christ, it is our bounden duty to allow no scruples of delicacy 
to interfere with perfect openness between us. I will look 
the other way, dear sister, while you communicate the facts, 
added the Director, courteously offering the old woman his 
snuff-box as he spoke. 

Sister Giuseppa took as large a pinch as her finger and 
thumb would hold, and savored it leisurely with upturned 
nose, before she replied, advancing her mouth towards his ear, 
and hissing out the terrible word, “ Heresy ! padre mio ! a 
clear case of heresy ! ’’ 

“ Oh — h — h ! ’’ said Don Domenico, with an accent of dis- 
appointment in his tone ; “ heresy ! Heresy, is it ? Humph ! 
Heresj', my good Giuseppa, is a malady of which it needs, 
perhaps, greater skill than yours to read the symptoms.” 

“ I am but a poor nun, your reverence,” said the old woman, 
evidently nettled at the small effect her communication had 
produced, “ but I haven’t served the Lord for upwards of half 
a century without learning to know the savor of heresy when 
it comes near me ! A pure conscience and zeal for the glory 
of God will stand in the place of book-learning! ” 

“Ho doubt! no doubt! What is the case, my excellent 
sister in Christ? ” asked the Director. 

“ Why ! what does your reverence think of her forbidding 
us to avail ourselves of the holy privileges and dispensation 
you, jmurself, in the exercise of jmur known discretion and ex- 
alted piety, have deigned to procure for this holy house ? 
What do 3mu think of that ? If that be not a questioning of 
the dispensing power of our Holy Father, I should like to 
know what is ! And if any devout and lowly-minded Chris- 
tian cannot smell heresy there, more shame and pity for them j 
that is all I say ! ” 

“ You say very well, my sister in Christ ! excellently 
well ! ” returned the Director. “ This new Superior,” he con- 
tinued, inhaling a great pinch of snuff, and nodding his head 
slowly up and down, “ must be one of that sort — a very dan- 
gerous and pestilential sort, indeed ! But, m3' dear sister, it 
is necessary to be prudent in these cases, — it is necessary to 
be very prudent ! God forbid that I should speak or even 
think evil of those placed in spiritual authority over me ! and 


270 


A TETE-A-TETE IN THE SACRISTY. 


I would not say such a thing for the world I — only to you, Sis- 
ter Giuseppa, who are a prudent, a God-fearing woman, I may 
say — between ourselves, you know, quite between ourselves — 
that our own Bishop here is but a poor creature ! I pity him 
with all my heart, in a position in which knowledge, judg- 
ment, energy, zeal, are required. We live in bad times, sis- 
ter!” 

“ Ah ! bad times indeed ! I remember when Monsignore 
came here ten years ago, I said at the time — though I always 
speak of the right reverend father with that respect which his 
holy office demands, and even with reverence, that it seemed 
strange, and, as it were, a refusal of the blessings of Provi- 
dence, to bring a stranger to the diocese, when we had among 
us one so well fitted in every way for the position as Don Do- 
menico Tondi, I said. Things would have been different in 
Montepulciano, and in this house, if those above us had seen 
with my eyes ! ” 

“ God’s will be done ! ” ejaculated the Director, with a shrug 
and a grimace, which seemed to add an expression of “ since 
there’s no help for it ! ” to the pious sentiment. 

“ But there w'as one thing, carissimo mio padre, which 
afflicted me, God forgive me for it, even more greviously than 
her very evident and most pestilent heresy ! She has strictly 
forbidden that devout woman, our cook, Guglielmina, to make 
any more of those little confections and patties which your 
reverence and one or two others of the good friends of the 
house were so fond of ! She has positively refused to allow 
any more to be sent from the convent to any one ! under pre- 
tence that whatever we can spare from our slender revenues 
ought to be employed in a different manner. Oh ! It is very 
abominable.” 

It is the will of the Lord to try us, my sister ! ” ejaculated 
the priest, while a heavy scowl passed over his features. 

But as for this shameless woman, what you tell me is cer- 
tainly a sin against the holy virtue of charity, and I am very 
much inclined to think,” he added, tapping his snuff-box as 
he spoke, “ at least constructively a sin against the Holy 
Spirit!” 

“ Ho ! you don’t say so ! ” exclaimed Sister Giuseppa, with 
a gleam of gratified malice in her eye. “ Ah ! your reverence, 
it is you who are a great theologian ! ” 

“We must see what is to be done ! ” replied the Director j 


THE ABBESS AND HER PUPIL. 


271 


we must consider wliat steps can be taken. In the mean 
time, be vigilant, Sister Giuseppa ! This holy house, and I 
may say the Church, expect it at your hands ! Keep a strict 
and holy watch ! And perhaps you may be able — you under- 
stand ” 

‘‘ Trust me to keep my eyes open, your reverence ! Trust 
old Sister Giuseppa — a simple nun — to do her part ! ” 

Before the Director had been gone an hour. Sister Giuseppa 
had found an opportunity of whispering her great news into 
the sympathising ear of Sister Maria : 

I have had a long conversation with our Director, sister I 
— such a consoling conversation ! The holy man places great 
confidence in me ! ’’ 

“ In whom better could he place confidence, Sister Giuseppa ! 
And what does his paternity say ? ” ' 

‘‘ Sister Maria ! we have a Superior who has been guilty of 
sin against the Holy Spirit ! ” said the other, hissing the words 
into the ear of her hearer. 

Before the same hour on the following evening, a mysterious 
whisper had passed through all the communitj’’, and every 
member of it was aware that some almost unmentionable 
horror had been providentially discovered with reference to the 
new Abbess ! The nuns were seizing every opportunity of 
getting into corners by twos and threes, to ask and tell rumors, 
and communicate ideas respecting the terrible news. Before 
long the great question which divided the opinions of the sis- 
terhood was, whether the new Abbess would be burned within 
the convent walls, or on the principal piazza of the city. 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE ABBESS AND HER PUPIL. 

It soon became impossible for the Abbess to avoid observing 
that there was something amiss between her and the members 
of the sisterhood under her government, and that their senti- 
ments with regard to her were not such as were desirable. 
Nevertheless, as the Director’s injunctions as to caution and 


272 


THE ABBESS AND HER PUPIL. 


prudence were observed most sedulously, she was wholly at a 
loss for any explanation of the unpleasant symptoms which 
forced themselves on her notice. Least of all did it occur to 
her to imagine that her intercourse with one of the young 
persons placed under her special care could form any part of 
the grounds of discontent with her government of the convent. 
And it was inevitable that what had passed between her and 
Stella at their last interview should make that intercourse 
closer and still more confidential for the future. The tie 
which henceforth bound them together was far too strong an 
one to be severed or weakened bj" the etiquette of convent dis- 
cipline, even if either of them had been aware of the extent 
to which they were considered to be sinning against it. 
Henceforward for ever the heart-life of these two women was 
to be centred in one and the same individual. 

Stella Altamari had received from nature a stronger moral 
fibre, a greater power of volition, and a bolder temperament, 
than Maddalena Tacca. Youth, moreover, is bolder and more 
sanguine than advanced life. Yet more is a heart which has 
grown in the world’s sunshine braver than one which has 
known only its cold shade. But greatest difference of all be- 
tween those two in the capacity of hopefulness, in the elas- 
ticity which can rise from the depression of past sorrows to 
fresh struggles and new aims, was that which resulted from 
the twenty years of living death which had made half the 
existence of the latter. A distant glimmering of the possi- 
bility of a feeling of joy had been manifested, as has been said, 
to the resuscitated heart of the woman who had been so long 
in her moral grave. But resuscitation is never otherwise than 
painful. The surest mark of the intensity of suffering is the 
limitation of the sufferer’s desires to absolute repose, and the 
cessation of all sensation. The moral nature cleaves to moral 
life, and abominates moral death with as strong an instinct as 
the physical body abhors ph^j-sical death. And the heart may 
suffer much, and turn eagerly at nature’s kindly and benefi- 
cent prompting to new hopes and aims. But the heart which 
has suffered most is that which limits its aspirations to the 
moral death of absolute vacancj’’ ; which dreads a new affection 
even as the quivering nerves dread another turn of the tor- 
mentor’s screw ; which has learned to distrust life so pro- 
foundly, that it clings to the numbed immobility of annihila- 
tion. 


THE ABBESS AND HER PUPIL. 


273 


This was the condition of heart and mind in which the 
discovery made by Stella and herself had found the Abbess 
Twenty years ago her babe had been torn from her bosom, and 
she had been consigned to a grave where it appeared iinpossi 
ble that any further tidings of him should reach her. If any 
half-conscious hope had lingered for a while in her heart, it 
had long since perished. Now the numbed heart was to be 
wakened from its long trance, the blood was to tingle again in 
its old currents, the pulses to be set beating afresh ! A strange 
fear and trembling, like that wdiich prisoners have felt when 
called, after long, long j'ears of confinement in dark cells, to 
come forth into the light of day, fell upon the Abbess when 
the possibilities of the future shaped themselves in her mind. 

Stella saw only cause of unmixed delight in the discovery 
she had made ! What a joy for Giulio ! His mother found ! 
and such a mother ! And she had been the discoverer ! Oh ! 
the pleasure of instantly writing her great tidings ! There 
would be no difficulty in sending her letters now ! She should 
be the means of bringing the long lost son and long lost 
mother to each other’s arms ! Of course, with such an aid on 
her side as the Abbess, her family would soon be brought to 
hear reason ! 

Poor little sanguine Stella was doomed, therefore, to a pain- 
ful shock of disappointment when she was called to her next 
interview with the Superior. She had been a good deal sur- 
prised that this call had not come on the very next da}'. Was 
it possible to suppose that the Abbess could be aught but over- 
joyed at the discovery ! Then occurred to her mind a horri- 
ble suspicion that the discovery of her son’s attachment to her 
might be as displeasing to the Abbess as the finding of her 
son must be a source of uiiraixed rejoicing. At all events, 
did she not want to hear a thousand things which only she, 
Stella, could tell her ? 

She little guessed, nor could have understood, had it been 
told her, that every hour of the intervening time had been 
passed by the Abbess between dread of and longing for the 
conversation for which the younger and stronger heart was so 
eager ! that she had been nerving herself for the interview 
with fear and trembling ! 

At last the summons came. Stella found the Abbess seated 
exactly as she had been on the former occasions. Even her 
young eye perceived at once that she was changed. She had 
17 


274 


THE ABBESS AND HER PUPIL. 


been pallid, subdued in manner, and even sad in accent and in 
bearing. But she bad not been beaten down as she seemed 
now, when Stella fancied that she ought to be rejoicing in the 
great glad tidings that had so unexpectedly come to her. Her 
ej^es seemed sunken in her head, and her face swollen with 
weeping, and there was a languor of hopelessness in the droop 
of her head upon her bosom which was very different from the 
quiet, graceful dignity of her previous bearing. 

She got up, however, as Stella entered the room, and 
advancing a step from her chair to meet her, took her head in 
her hands, and, pressing it against her bosom, kissed her on 
the forehead. 

“ Sit down, my daughter ! we have much, very much, to say 
to each other — much that each of us must be so eager to 
hear ! 

“ And, in truth, dearest mother,’’ Stella could not abstain 
from saying, “ I had hoped to have been called to your pres- 
ence sooner ! ” 

“ No doubt ! no doubt ! my child. I ought to have consid- 
ered jmur natural impatience more. But — Stella — I am but a 

poor broken creature. I have been much shaken ” 

^‘But it must have been a great joy to you, my mother, to 
have found — we may call it found — your lost son, and such a 
son, my mother ! ” 

Yes ! dearest Stella ! a great, a fearful joy ! ” 

The Abbess had never before made use of so loving a mode 
of address in speaking to her, and Stella was encouraged by it 
to say ; 

“And the joy is not diminished, dearest mother, by the 
knowledge that the son thus discovered loves me ? ” 

“Hear child !” replied the Abbess, placing her hand affec- 
tionately on Stella’s head, “ assuredly the joy is not dimin- 
ished, — but the fear is increased ! ” 

“ Why should there be fear at all, my mother ? ” asked 
Stella, after a short pause, during which she had been endeav- 
oring, unsuccessfully, to fathom the Abbess’s meaning. 

“ My Stella ! Can you ask such a question I What fear I 
Yet it is natural that it should appear so to jmur mind ! You 

know not what it is to have but, at any rate, my Stella, 

you must be aware of the difficulties that are before us as re- 
gards the attachment of you and Giulio for each other ? ” 

“ But if I — if we have your approbation, my mother, that 
is a diffculty the less, not a difficulty the more in our path.” 


THE ABBESS AND HER PUPIL. 


275 


How so, ray child ? ’’ 

You will not lend your aid, ray mother, to enforce upon 
rae the terrible alternative of a marriage with the Marchese 
Alfonso, or the taking of the veil. You will support me in 
refusing at least the latter fate, will you not, my mother? ’’ 

‘‘ That, in any case, I should have done to the best of my 
power, my daughter. But, alas ! what can that power avail ? 
There are other convents, even if the Canon Altamari should 
not prefer using his influence to place a new Superior in this.^’ 
But surelj^, my mother, it would be difScult to insist on 
my becoming a nun after one Superior had declined to admit 
me to profession because I had openly declared that I had no 
vocation for that state ! urged Stella. 

“ And would it add, think jmu, my child, to my authority 
on the subject, when it became known that your object in 
refusing the veil was to marry and confer your large posses- 
sions on the son of the Abbess who pronounced you unfitted 
for the vows ? ” 

“ But you will not give me up, my mother ! You would 
not stand by and see me forced against my will into a clois- 
ter ! ” pleaded Stella, who was already beginning to lose some 
of the golden illusions with which the discovery of — as it 
seemed to her hopes — a mother-in-law in the Abbess had in- 
spired her. 

I fear me, my dear child, that the discovery we have made 
may have the effect of increasing the difficulties before you, 
and not diminishing them ! My heart misgives me that it 
may be so. For that reason — mainly for that reason — I have 
felt terrified at that which is before us ! Think you, my child, 
that it will help your hopes, when it shall be found out that he 
who asks your hand is the son of a cloistered nun ! ’’ 

But we knew before — Giulio was till now motherless. 
And — and — the circumstances under which you — were sepa- 
rated from him ” 

“I fear, my poor child, that you do not understand the 
rules and principles which govern the world in such matters ! ” 
said the Abbess, with a heavy sigh. 

“ At all events, my mother, there will be the great, great 
happiness for Giulio and for you ! And for the rest, Giulio 
will know what is best to be done. At all events, he will 
come here ! I shall see him ! I am sure that all will then be 
well ! '' 


276 


THE ABBESS AND HER PUPIL. 


My child ! my child ! you make me tremble ! Bethink 
yourself a little, Stella ! ” 

In fact, the Abbess was alarmed and almost aghast at 
Stella’s eagerness, and sanguine persuasion that all they had 
to do was to cry aloud from the house-top the discovery they 
had made. During the long hours of the days and nights 
since the previous interview with Stella, she had been pain- 
fully meditating on the future, and on the course which it 
would be wisest and best to pursue. Her heart yearned to 
her child. The maternal instincts which had so long lain 
dead beneath the pall of conventual moral lethargy, had been 
powerfully aroused. It was still to the babe that had been 
taken from her bosom that her heart and her imagination 
turned. And it seemed to her feelings as if it were but a 
false and delusory gratification of her maternal yearning to 
bring a bearded man to her in the place of the babe she had 
lost. Then there were doubts and fears of a more reasoned 
sort. Should she not be bringing evil to her son by the dis- 
covery of herself? He had made his way to a prosperous 
and honorable position in the world. Would not the knowl- 
edge that his mother was an unmarried cloistered nun be a 
sore disadvantage to him? Would such knowledge be wel- 
come to him ? Would his filial feeling be strong enough to 
stand against the sentiment with which we are apt to regard 
those who are injurious and inconvenient to us ? Might she 
not, by making herself known to her son, be going in quest of 
new heart-laceration and the re-opening of long-closed wounds ? 
Had she the courage to face all these risks ? Would unbiased 
wisdom counsel her to do so ? 

All these meditations had led her to the issue to which 
similar doubts and fears usually bring timid and irresolute 
doubters. At all events, it would be best to wait — not to be 
too precipitate — to feel the way — to sound the mind of her 
son. She would have the means of doing this effectually by 
the co-operation of Stella. By degrees he might be prepared 
for the revelation. Then, again, as to his and Stella’s attach- 
ment. It could hardly be but that the precipitate disclosure 
of her secret would make their difficulties greater. She saw 
but small hope for them in any case. She had not sufficient 
knowledge of the world to be full3>^ aware of the violence of 
the opposition that would of course be made to such a mar- 
, riage as that between a fortuneless captain in the Piedmontese 


THE ABBESS AND HER PUPIL. 


277 


service and the richest heiress in Tuscan3\ She Knew that 
the lady’s family objected, and she had an exaggerated notion 
of the power of a great and wealth}^ family. 

The more she looked at the matter in every point of view, 
the more she felt that it would be the height of imprudence 
to divulge the secret prematurely ; and that, at all events, tlie 
doing so would require the courage and decision of which she 
was not capable. She was, in truth, terrified at finding that 
Stella had no other idea on the subject than the promjjtest and 
most unhesitating revelation of the truth. 

“ Trust me, my dear child,” she continued, ‘‘ you do not 
appreciate dnlj^- the results of such a discovery ! What possi- 
bilities maj^ lie in the future for bringing to pass a union be- 
tween you and my unfortunate son, I cannot say ! This I am 
sure of, that the difficulties you have to contend with would 
be increased by the secret we have discovered being prema- 
turel}’- divulged.” 

“ Why unfortunate ?” cried Stella, who had raised her head 
with a sharp, defiant sort of movement at the word. 

“ Why unfortunate, dearest ? Can you ask ? Why is 
my son unfortunate ? Is it no misfortune to have me for a 
mother ? ” 

“ I would rather say, my mother, that you are fortunate in 
having him for a son ! ” 

“ May you never, never know, my daughter, what it is to 
feel that you have injured the being you best love by the mere 
fact of having brought him into the world ! ” 

“ Mother,” said Stella, after a pause, “ to my thinking you 
are led by the sufferings 3mu have endured to exaggerate the 
evil you deplore. Where there has been no sin — pardon my 
great presumption in speaking to 3mu so — it seems to me as if 
there cannot be any such insuperable cause for regret. Think, 
only think ! ” she added, with a naive intensity of earnestness 
which would have been amusing to any third part3^ who could 
have overheard her, “ of the loss, if he had never been born at 
all ! Think of the loss to his country — to Ital3^, my mother ! ” 
— ‘‘ to me specially,” she would have said, “ and to all the 
human race in the second place,” if she had spoken her entire 
thought. 

Little attuned as was the mind of the Abbess to any pleas- 
ant thought, she could not help smiling, with a feeling of 
pleasure, at Stella’s innocent enthusiasm. He had had the 


278 


THE ABBESS AND HER PUPIL. 


fortune, at all events, then, of making his own the priceless 
love of one true and exceedingly lovely and loving heart — this 
unfortunate son of hers ! If only he was better worthy of it 
than his father ! 

“ Tell me, then, my Stella,” said the Abbess, looking at her 
fondl}'- — “tell me something about this paladin, whose non- 
existence would have been such a loss to his country — and 
perhaps to some individual citizen — or citizeness besides ? ” 

“ How can I describe him to you, my mother,” replied 
Stella, dropping the silken lashes over her eyes, and with an 
indescribable manifestation of pleasure in the task assigned 
her, which might be likened to the purring of a happy kitten, 
“ It is not only what he has done — though it is well known 
that the important success at Curtatone was mainly due to him 
— and I could tell you many another deed of his bcvsides — and 
some day I must tell you, for he never will ! — and it is not 
that he is handsome — though I confess I never saw any other 
nearly so beautiful ! — it is — I think it is — a sort of noble gen- 
tleness that is in his heart, and shines out of his e3^es ! I think 
it is mainly that, which goes straight to one’s heart ! And I 
will tell you an observation that I have made,” she continued, 
with an obviously ingenuous pouring out of the most secret 
meditations of her little heart ; “ we are taught, you know, 
my mother, that to love God purifies and elevates the heart 
and soul. And I have observed that my love for Giulio has 
produced similar effects on my character. I am better — better 
in heart and in mind since I have loved him ! It has given 
me higher and nobler thoughts and feelings, and larger charity 
towards all others ! I think even that I am less silly and 
giddy than I was before ! I think, if one loved a man who 
was not good, one would become worse than before. I am sure 
that the effect my love for Giulio has had on me must show 
that he is very God-like ! ” 

“ Stella ! ” 

“ Of course I do not mean like God, my mother ; but that 
he has qualities of the same kind as those which we attribute 
to God. Then he is so beloved by all who know him. To 
hear his fellow-students at the University speak of him ! He 
saved the lives of more than one of them at the risk of his 
own ! If others had not told me of the facts, I should never 
have known them ! ” 

“ You are an eloquent eulogist, my Stella,” said the Abbess, 


THE ABBESS AND HER PUPIL. 


279 


with a sad, yet pleased smile ; ‘‘ now tell me, if you have con- 
descended to remember any such unimportant details, some- 
thinp: of the appearance of this handsomest man you ever saw.’’ 

If I remember ! Oil, niadre mia, if I were a painter, I 
could paint his portrait here just as well as if he were sitting 
to me for it !” answered Stella, closing her eyes, and revelling 
in the mental image she had summoned from that storehouse 
of the imagination, where it dwelt continuall}’’ within call at 
the shortest notice. “ I am afraid you will think that I want 
to flatter you, my mother,” she said, with a smiling glance at 
the face of the Abbess, “if, after all I have said, I tell j^ou 
that he is like you. But he is so — to a certain degree. He 
has the same regular oval face, and the same nose. The 
mouth, too, is like ; but the chin is different, larger and more 
square. His hair is certainlj’^ the most beautiful that ever 
was seen ! Dark, dark brown ; nearlj^, but not quite, black ; 
and lying on his head in great thick glossy curls! — oh ! such 
beautiful hair. The forehead, again, is like yours, my mother! 
high and large, and very white. But the most beautiful, the 
most wonderful of all, are the eyes ! They are eyes that na- 
ture must have intended for somebody that was to be born 
dumb ! For theji^ seem to be able to supply the place of speak- 
ing. They are sometimes very pensive, thoughtful eyes, and 
sometimes quick and flashing as the lightning ! They are 
very fierce e^’es ! and they are such tender eyes — oh ! so ten- 
der ! They can be stern and commanding eyes; but I have 
seen them so beseeching — so beseeching, that no human being 
could say, No, to them. And I can tell you, madre mia, that 
they are eyes that cannot help telling all his secrets! Such 
tell-tale eyes ! They told me that he loved me long before his 
tongue did ! But that is a secret between ourselves, madre 
mia ! I never told him that his eyes had turned traitors and 
blabbed, what he never ordered them to tell ! And I know 
for certain that what these eyes tell, is the truth ; they can- 
not tell lies,” added Stella, sententiously. 

“There have been beautiful eyes, which could speak elo- 
quently, and which could tell lies ! ” said the Abbess, with a 
sigh. 

“They must have been different!” said Stella, with prompt 
decision ; “I, too, have seen beautiful eyes, which 1 would not 
trust ; but his are different ; — oh ! so different ! I am sure 
that nobody could disbelieve them.” 


2S0 


THE ABBESS AND HER PUPIL. 


short, Stella! you love him! I feel that that is a 
strong evidence in his favor j for I do not think that 'f/ou 
would love unworthil}’’ V’ 

“ Is it not then an evidence in my favor that he loves me ? 
ryoined Stella, with illogical naivete. 

“ That I may possibly be able to answer, my Stella, at some 
future time,’^ replied the Abbess, shaking her head. 

“Some future time, my mother !^^ re-echoed Stella; — ‘‘ s, 
time very near at hand, I trust ! ” 

“ I know not, my child ! It needs much thought. I do not 
see m}^ way, Stella ! I tremble at the thought of taking a 
step of which I cannot foresee the consequences. If I were to 
injure Guilio’s prospects by the discovery ! If he were to feel 
that his mother had been a second time fatal to him ! ” 

“Trust me, my mother, trust me, who know him, that to 
throw himself into your arms will be the greatest joy that 
Giulio could ask from fate ! To discover his long lost mother 
is the great object and enterprise of his life.’’ 

“ I doubt it not, my child ! But that is no guarantee for 
his contentment when he should discover the mother he has so 
long sought in a cloistered nun ! Still less is it any security 
against tlie mischief that such a discovery would cause him 
in the minds of others!” 

It was in vain that Stella strove to combat the fears and 
misgivings of the Abbess, and inspire her with courage to 
make herself known at once to her son. 

“ Give me time, my child ! It is a great, a fearful step ! 
Give me time to think! Perhaps j^ou are right, my Stella; 
but I must have time to think of it maturely.” 

This was all that Stella was able to obtain from the shrink- 
ing tiraidit}’’ and weakness of the Abbess. The question was 
debated between them at several subsequent interviews ; and 
it would have been curious to mark how, despite the circum- 
stances of the social relation in which the two women stood 
towards each other, the stronger, fresher, and bolder mind of 
the young boarder gradually, and without any purpose on the 
part of either of them, assumed the position and the task of 
strengthening, encouraging, and supporting the depressed and 
unnerved energies of her Superior ; — a curious, but not an un- 
pleasing study ! Por so true and warm an affection grew up 
between them, and the eagerness of the young and unbroken 
heart was bent with so transparent a purity of unselfishness 


THE ABBESS AND HER PUPIL. 


281 


on bringing about that which she w^as convinced would restore 
a large portion of happiness to the poor crushed coward heart 
beside her, that tlie relationship of the two minds resembled 
that between a child and the aged blind whose steps it tender- 
ly guides. 

Stella’s utmost efforts failed to stimulate the Abbess so far 
as to obtain her consent to the step she was urging on her. 
Eear had too entirely and permanently ousted hope from any 
place in that bruised and long lethargic heart. The utmost 
that Stella could at length obtain from her was permission to 
write a letter, which, in very cautious and guarded terms, 
should in some degree prepare Giulio for the possibility of a 
discover3^ Again and again she wrote, modifying her letter 
in compliance with the exigencies of the Abbess’s fears. At 
length she induced her half-reluctantly to permit the following 
letter to be sent : 

‘‘ At last, at last, my own beloved, there will come up to you 
from the silence of the cloister a voice from j^our poor buried 
Stella ; — a voice bidding j'ou to be of good heart and cheer, my 
Giulio ! — a voice telling 3’ou that she is still alive, — I do not 
mean her bod^" only (for that is not what they try to kill in 
convents ; and in truth I have had nothing to suffer on that 
score), but her heart, and mind, and soul. Is it necessary’’ to 
add that the}’’ are all still your own ? 

Howj you will say, can I hope to find the means of making 
this letter reach you ? That question brings me to the men- 
tion of a great event that has happened in this still and mo- 
notonous convent existence. Last January old Madre Veron- 
ica, the Superior to whose care and guidance I was specially 
consigned, died. We have a new Mother Superior! She is 
a very different sort of person in every respect from the Mother 
Veronica ; and her kindness has been an infinite comfort to 
me. It will tell you all, in one word, that it is needful for me 
to write about her, when I say that I have found in her a kind 
and ]oving frie 7 id. 

“ It will seem strange to you, after all that I have said 
about the utter isolation of our convent life ; but the fact is 
that, if I am not mistaken, I have come upon a clue which 
may lead you to the discovery of the mother whose loss you 
have so long deplored. What if it should turn out that she 
has lain hid all this time in one of the houses of this order ! 


282 


THE ABBESS AND HER PUPIL. 


[Should rny suspicion prove to have any foundation of proba- 
bility, it would be necessary to proceed with caution and dis- 
cretion.] ” (This passage was added at the instance of the 
Abbess.) “All is very uncertain as yet; and that is why I 
am compelled, to my great annoyance, to write in such myste- 
rious and unsatisfactory terms. The best mode of proceed- 
ing would be for you to come, if possible, hither, and seek an 
interview with the Abbess ; assigning any motive that jmu 
may think best. It is not probable that I should be able to 
see you ; — at all events, not otherwise than in the parlatorio, 
under the watchful eyes — and ears — of one of the old nuns. 
Even that would be very much better than nothing ! The 
Abbess, however, would be prepared to receive you, and to 
speak on the subject in question. 

“ Forgive me, my own Giulio, for writing in this mysterious 
strain ! It is not my fault! I am not permitted to do other- 
wise 1 

“ At all events, the chance is worth something which gives 
me an opportunity of telling you that I am just as much your 
own, just as much determined never to give heart or hand to 
anj’' other, as the first day I came here. They have made no 
step, my Giulio, towards conquering your little Stella, — not 
one ! I often say to myself, this is my Curtatone ! And be 
very sure that I, too, shall be victorious. They won’t make 
me a Captain of Lancers, I am afraid ! But I shall fight my 
battle, AND WIN IT, as well as other folks ! 

I saw one of the old charts of the convent the other day, 
in a printed volume ; and at the bottom of it there was a cir- 
cle, with the words ‘ locus sigilli ’ — the place of the seal, thej’' 
told me. — Thus — ^ locus O sigilli.'^ That is the place, sir ; 
just where I have made the circle. 

“ Adieu my own, own dearest ! 

“ Your buried but still living 

“ Stella.” 

This letter the Abbess promised to have conveyed under 
cover to Francesca Palmieri, near the Porta Pomana, Flor- 
ence. 

It was some time before she succeeded in finding the means 
of doing so; and though the letter did eventually reach the 
bands for which it was intended, a further delay occurred be- 
fore it arrived at its destination. 


CAPTAIN MALATESTa’s LETTERS. 


283 


book: -NT. 

SANTA CROCE. 


CHAPTER 1. 

CAPTAIN MALATESTA’s LETTERS. 

Giulio Malatesta received his promotion at the time it 
had been promised to him. But he was disappointed in his 
expectation of being able to obtain leave of absence in tlie 
course of that year. From month to month the pressing exi- 
gencies of the service, which allowed but little relaxation in 
any kind to the scanty troops of the little Piedmontese army 
during those disastrous years, made his absence from his regi- 
ment impossible. It was not till the early spring of 1851 
that he was at length able to put into execution his long- 
cherished plan of visiting Bologna, in the hope of finding 
there some clue to the discovery of his mother. 

He had corresponded all this time, more or less regularly, 
with Professor Varani, and with Binaldo Palmieri. 

The Professor had promised him that he would make in- 
quiries, with a view to preparing the ground for his proposed 
investigations. He had been able to do very little in this 
way. He gave him carefully, in writing, a detailed statement 
of the facts respecting the marriage of his mother, which he 
had already communicated to him by word of mouth at Pisa ; 
and he promised him a letter of introduction to his own 
mother. Signora Varani, who w^as still living, now a very old 
W'Oman, at Bologna. This was about the extent of what the 
Professor had been able to contribute to the object in view. 
The letters which passed between him and Giulio were for the 
most part filled with political discussions. 

The correspondence between Giulio and Rinaldo turned 
during the earlier portion of it mainly on Rinaldo’s love- 
matters, and his approaching marriage; and during that part 
of it which 'was subsequent to that event, had reference to the 
result of Einaldo’s journey to Montepulciano, and to various 


284 


CAPTAIN MALATESTa’s LETTERS. 


schemes for introducing letters into the convent, all of which 
proved abortive on discussion. 

Several letters also had passed between Giulio and his 
friend Carlo Brancacci. A few extracts from some of these 
will suffice as indications of the state of things in the Palazzo 
Altamari during Stella’s banishment at Montepulciano. 

In a letter written towards the end of September, 1849, 
after speaking of the recent return to Florence of his uncle 
and the Contessa Zenobia, from spending a couple of months 
at Leghorn, Carlo continued : 

“ As for myself, I am too thorough a Florentine to find any- 
thing very delightful in these migrations to the sea-side, which 
modern fashion makes so imperative. I am never so contented, 
out of sight of Giotto’s tower, as beneath the shadow of it. I 
suspect that my uncle is very much of the same way of think- 
ing. Needs must, when the Contessa Zenobia drives ! Her 
ladyship, of course, was in high feather there. There is no 
need of describing to you herself or her ways. I am sure you 
have already pictured to yourself that fairy-like form on the 
extremity of the pier, in very high spirits and very high- 
heeled boots, and a very high wind blowing in from the south- 
west ! I assure you it was a sight to be seen ; and you would 
have laughed, as I have every time I have remembered it, if 
you had seen my excellent uncle’s distress, of body and mind, 
partly at the inconvenance of her ladyship’s appearance, 
partly at the danger of losing his own hat and wig, and partly 
at his difficulty of maintaining his footing. That animal, the 
Marchese Alfonso, gave us his company down there part of 
the time. There is no telling you what a creature it is ! I 
think he is rather frightened — perhaps his provincial propriety 
is a little scandalised — at La Zenobia. If it were not for his 
reverence, the Canonico Adalberto, I should not despair of the 
possibility of making such a breach between the little man 
and the Contessa, as might effectually get rid of him. But 
the Canonico is not an adversary against whom it is easy to 
win a game of any description. He is one of those men who 
wills what he wills in earnest. He is as quiet and gentle in 
manner as a lamb; and you would think it the easiest thing 
in the world to turn him round your finger, and bring him to 
consent to anything. So it is, as long as the matter in ques- 
tion is nothing that he very particularly cares about. But he 


CAPTAIN MALATESTA’s LETTERS. 


285 


means to join the Malatesta to the Altamari property. By- 
the-b}^, T am not sure whether I ever told you that no word has 
been said to the Marchese Alfonso of his having a rival in his 
pretensions to the hand of the Contessina. I might easily do 
this; but I have thought, on the whole, that it was best not to 
say it. It would probably be very easy to frighten the Signor 
Marchese into abandoning all thoughts of an Altamari mar- 
riage — if, again, it were not for the Canonico. But the 
wretched little man fears him, and not without reason, more 
than anything else ; and there cannot be the least doubt that 
his reverence would find the means of keeping him up to his 
word.’^ 

In another letter, of about a week later date, Carlo wrote : 

“ Of course, one of my first visits on returning to Florence, 
was to our friend Binaldo Palmieri. You know all the story 
of his tracking the Contessina and her uncle to Montepulci- 
ano. In truth, it is a great comfort to know where she is ! 
Beyond that we have been able to accomplish nothing.’’ 

In another letter, written about a month later, the following 
passage occurs : 

“ If it were not for that terrible Canonico, we should have 
an easy game before us. For nothing could be easier than to 
make an irreparable breach between the Marchese Alfonso and 
the Contessa. It is evident that she has taken a regular 
aversion to the poor little creature. He is made up of the 
very quintessence of priggism and insignificance. He is ex- 
tremely devout, too, you must know, and is much given to 
make his little church matters and observances the topic of 
drawing-room conversation, to the infinite disgust of La Ze- 
nobia, which she manifests in a way that it is the fun of the 
world to see ! She flounces, and tosses, and kicks, and makes 
grimaces, in a manner that sometimes tries the nerves of my 
poor uncle terribly.” 

“ Adieu, old fellow ! Keep up your spirits. We’ll floor the 
Marchese yet, somehow; and you shall- win the day in the 
long run ! Perhaps it may be in the design of Providence 
that the Illustrissimo Signor Canonico Adalberto Altamari 
may get a touch of gout in the stomach ! Who knows ! 

^ Yours always, 

‘‘ Carlo.” 


286 CAPTAIN malatesta’s letters. 

A passage from another letter, without date, hut evidently 
written some time in the spring of 1850, shows that Giulio 
did not get his first intimation of the change of Superior at 
Montepiilciano from Stella’s letter to him : 

At last, my dear Giulio,” Carlo writes, I have some 
news to give you from Montepulciano — not from the Contessi- 
na Stella herself — but still news that may be important, and 
that can hardly turn out to be otherwise than favorable. The 
Superior of the convent of Ursulines, to whose charge the 
Contessina was specially consigned by her precious uncle, died, 
it seems, verj’’ suddenly, last January, and a new Superior has 
been appointed in her place. Of course we — that is to say, 
Palmieri and his wife and I — did our best to find out some- 
thing about the new Abbess. She was brought to Montepul- 
ciano, it seems, from some other distant convent of the order. 
It is said that she is a woman of very different stamp from her 
predecessor — a person of culture, and, as far as an Abbess can 
be, of liberal views and tendencies. The Palmieri are on the 
look-out, and you may depend on it that no shadow of a chance 
of communicating with the prisoner shall be suffered to escape. 
Meantime, it can hardly be doubted that the Contessiua’s lot 
must be ameliorated under the rule of such a Superior. 

“ Our Carnival here has been a verj’’ dull one — very differ- 
ent, indeed, from those happy days which we enjoyed together 
in 1848.” 

One more extract from a letter, written towards the end of 
the year, will serve to show the result of those further inquiries 
which Carlo had, in his former letter, promised his friend should 
not be neglected : 

‘‘ Palmieri has picked up some rather strange rumors from 
Montepulciano, which seem to show that it is probable that 
the change of Superior, of which I wrote to you in the spring, 
may affect the Contessina Stella in a manner different from 
anything I then anticipated. I told you that the new Abbess 
had the character of being a person of — for an Abbess — liberal 
tendencies. I hear that the sisterhood are in a state of open 
rebellion ; — that they are supported by some influential clergy 
of the diocese ; — that there is likely to be such a row and a 
scandal as might even cause the existence of Montepulciano to 
be heard of in these latitudes. All which would be about as 


CAPTAIN MALATESTa’s LETTERS. 


287 


interesting to ns as hearing that the Emperor of China had a 
cold in his head, were it not that it seems, from all I can hear, 
likely to lead to the new Abbess being summoned to Florence, 
and, as a consequence, to the recall of the Contessina Stella. 
You know my dear Uncle Florimond’s diplomatic profundity 
and caution. Still, he is open to a certain amount of pim.p- 
ing, if the handle of the machine be not plied too roughly. 
My impression is that he knows that it has been decided to 
bring the Contessina home. You must not suppose, however, 
that any such move is worth more than it really is. I have 
not the slightest hope that such a step would indicate any 
change in that terrible Canonico Adalberto’s plans and pur- 
poses. There are plenty of other convents. 

‘‘ So 3’ou have got your leave of absence at last. I congrat- 
ulate you, and earnestlj" hope that jmur projected trip to 
Bologna may not turn out altogether fruitless for the object 
you have in view. ‘‘ Yours always. 

Carlo.’’ 

To the above extracts from the letters of Carlo Brancacci 
it may be useful to add the following from Professor Pietro 
Varani to Giulio Malatesta, written just before the latter 
started on his long-deferred journey to Bologna, as it will 
serve to explain the objects and the prospects before Giulio 
with respect to the investigation he was bent on making : 

Most Esteemed Signor Capitano, — I am much pleased 
to hear that jmu are at last able to accomplish your purpose of 
going to Bologna. You know, alas ! too well, how much 
reason I have for feeling that the inquiries you intend making 
are more painfully interesting to me than even to yourself. I 
dare not sa^r to you or to myself that I have much hope. It 
is now nearly twenty-three years from the da}", never to be 
forgotten by me, when my fatal ignorance and undue trustful- 
ness in a scoundrel led to so much misery ! — nearly twenty- 
three years! — a fatally sufficient time for effacing oblivion to 
do it's work ! To me every incident, everj" look of each of the 
actors in that sad scene, are as vividly present as the}" were 
while they were actuall}" passing. We cannot expect that 
such should be the case with others. 

“ I have called the worthless man who broke your dear 
mother’s heart a scoundrel, and his subsequent conduct stamps 
him such. But I have never supposed that he could have 


288 CAPTAIN malatesta’s letters. 

known the fatal flaw arising from mj’’ being under legal age 
before the marriage was made. 

It would prolDahly not be difficult to discover the house 
at which your mother resided at Belfiore, and perhaps the 
owners of it and others, who were about her at the time of her 
leaving it, might still be found. I have little, or rather, I con- 
fess, no hope, that they will be able to throw any light on her 
destination, beyond its being Borne. 

“I enclose you a letter to my mother, not so much from any 
hope that she can be of service to you by any recollection of 
her own, but simply because from her many years’ residence 
in Bologna, and her long, close, and widely-extended connection 
with the liberal party throughout Bomagna, she may be able, 
perhaps, to be of use in making you acquainted with persons 
who may possibly bo helpful to ^mu. More especialljq as at 
the present time it would scarcely be prudent for an officer in 
your service to be known as such in the Papal territory, she 
may be of use to you ; for you may implicitly trust in that 
point of view any person with whom she may put you in 
relation. 

“ My mother is now a very old woman, and though when I 
last heard of her she was in somewhat failing health, is still 
in the full possession of all her faculties. But she is harsh 
and austere in manner. She has seen much of the wrong, the 
tyranny, and the abuses, which, during the whole of a long 
life, have made her country one of the most wretched on the 
face of the earth. Her whole life has been spent in fighting 
against the lao^s and the makers of them, by force or by fraud, 
or bj’' any available means. She is, in consequence, a soured 
and embittered woman ; and her tongue is apt to be sarcastic 
and mordant. Nevertheless, when she knows who and what 
you are, I am sure that she will wish to lend you a helping 
hand if she can ; and, at all events, you may perfectly trust 
her. 

“ Your devoted servant and sincere well-wisher, 

“Pietro Varani, Professore.” 

The above letters all reached Captain Malatesta at Alessan- 
dria, where his regiment was quartered ; for, owing to new 
and unexpected delays, he was not able to get away from his 
military duties till the first days of 1851. 

It was on the 6th of January that he reached Bologna. 


MARTA VAR AN I. 


289 


CHAPTEE II. 

MARTA YARANI. 

The j’^ears which bring a young man from nineteen to 
twenty-two or so, and which were near about those that had 
passed over Giulio Malatesta since we parted from him on the 
field of Curtatone, produce for the most part a greater change 
in a young man on the soutliern side of the Alps than in our 
less forcing climate. The ripening process goes on more 
rapidly as regards manhood, as well as other growths, under 
an Italian sun. But the change which any friend who had 
not seen him during the interval would have remarked in 
Giulio, was attributable only in part to the mere lapse of time. 
That “ most beautiful hair in the world,” instead of floating 
in long curly locks from his temples, was cropped short The 
pale and almost sallow cheek had become somewhat bronzed, 
*and perhaps a little filled out. Those eyes, the versatility of 
wdiose expression Stella had so lovingly celebrated, had far less 
of dreamy reverie in them than of jmre, and seemed to have 
altogether forgotten the “beseeching” mood, which had 
spoken so powerfully to her heart, in favor of tlie stern and 
commanding expression, which she had sometimes seen in 
them. But then, the versatile eyes might probably change 
their mood again, if they got a chance of again communing 
with those which had marked them in their “beseeching” 
aspect. 

Giulio’s first care on arriving in Bologna was to send a mes- 
senger from his inn with the Professor’s letter to his mother, 
and a request that Signora Varani would name an hour when 
he might call upon her. In fact, he knew no other means of 
taking the first step in the matter he was engaged in. He 
had never been in Bologna before, and had not a single ac- 
quaintance in the city. He wished to hear from Signora Va- 
rani’s own mouth her reminiscences of the circumstances 
attending the clandestine marriage. But the principal service 
he expected from her, was an introduction to some person he 
could depend on for assistance in certain inquiries he was bent 
on making at Belfiore and at Fermo. 

It was nightfall before the messenger returned with a word 

18 


290 


MARTA VARAN!. 


to say that La Signora Va-rani would be glad to see the gentle- 
man at ten o’clock the next morning. At that hour, Giulio 
found himself at the door of the old house in the corner oj^po- 
site to the entrance of the church. 

Inside the old apartment on one side of the third-floor land- 
ing-place there was considerable change. The duties of his 
career had taken the Professor to a distant city ; and when his 
young sister, who had grown up to be the solitary sunbeam 
that shed any light of grace o: gladness on the dull life of that 
dreaiy household, had elected to accompany her brother to his 
new home, their mother had made no objection, and had not 
appeared in any way to regret the arrangement. There had 
never been any great sympathjP between the ungainly, ill- 
favored, dreamy lad and his still handsome, active, practical, 
hard-natured mother. The stern old woman set her face to 
walk forwards into the desert of a solitary old age, apparently 
quite contented to be left to finish her pilgrimage alone. 
Alone with the political friends and the political schemes, that 
is to say, which had made the business and the interest of her 
life, and which, indeed, made the little apartment on the third 
floor scarcely a desirable residence for a young girl just bloom- 
ing into great beauty. 

Marta Varani was herself much changed. She was now 
nearly seventy years old. She was more altered than she 
might have been. Yet, in some respects, she was the same. 
The tall, spare, rigid figure was as upright as ever ; but she 
steadied her steps with a stout cane, and the hand which 
grasped it trembled a little as it did its office. The great dark 
eye was as flashing and as bright as ever, and the heavy bushy 
brow above it as strongly marked and as menacing as ever, 
but it was iron-grey instead of black ; and the hair, as abund- 
ant as ever, lay, in large iron-grey instead of raven-black masses 
on the temples and forehead, square and massive as ever, but 
yellow now instead of white, as they still had been twenty 
years ago. 

Malatesta was admitted by a girl, whom the old woman had 
found herself compelled by her infirmities to take as a servant. 

Take a seat. Captain Giulio Malatesta,” said the old 
woman, looking at him keenly from under lier heavy brows, 
“ and excuse me for not rising to receive you. I do not get up 
Mdien I am once seated so readily as I used to. So ! I see by 
.my son’s letter that you were at Curtatone, — on the right side, 


MARTA VARANI. 


291 


for a wonder, considering the name you bear. Italy has little 
reason, and old Marta Varani has as little, to love the name 
of Malatesta.” 

You allude. Signora, I cannot affect to doubt, to the un- 
happy circumstances attending the marriage of my parents 
“ Ay ! My son’s letter tells me the errand you have come 
hither on. What can I do to undo the mischief that he was 
gaby enough to allow to be wrought ?” 

“ Nay, Signora, the mischief that was done that day can 
never be undone.” The old woman shot a sharp glance at him 
from under her eyebrows as he said the words, and continued 
to scrutinise his face earnestly as he continued : “ I had no 
thought of undoing it, but simply of endeavoring to discover 
some traces of the unfortunate mother whom I have never 
known.” 

My son seems to imagine that I can assist that object. It 
was an unhappy business, that marriage ! Your unfortunate 
mother was shamefully, scandalously deceived and betrayed. 
My great gaby of a son, of course, with the best possible inten- 
tions, like all the rest of the fools who make most of the trouble 
in this world, must needs give his help to the job.” 

‘‘ It would have been very difficult for him, under the cir- 
cumstances of the case, as I have heard them from him, to 
refuse to act as a witness.” 

He always said that that vile animal, the Marchese Mala- 
testa there at Fermo, had no previous knowledge that Pietro 
was under age, and that the marriage was, therefore, a nullity. 
As if all the history of our lives, and all the history of the 
lives of our forefathers, had any other teaching in them than 
this — that no imaginable atrocity, cruelty, treachery, baseness, 
practised by the privileged classes on the slaves who endure 
their yoke, can be either a matter of surprise to the victims, 
or a weight on the conscience of their tyrants ! ” 

The old woman raised aloft the staff in her feeble hand 
with a gesture of impotent indignation as she spoke, and a 
gleam flashed from her eye which might have fitted her for 
the representative of a si%l in the act of inspired denuncia- 
tion. 

‘^Is it, then, your own persuasion. Signora, that the fact 
was otherwise than as my friend the Professor thinks — that 
the Marchese plotted the false semblance of a marriage, and 
was aware both of the fact that your son was under age, and 


292 


MARTA VARANI. 


of the nullity of the marriage that would follow from it ? 
asked Giulio, calmly and observantly attentive to gather any 
facts wliich might possibly serve to help him in his quest. 

“ Is it my persuasion ? Assuredly it is ! My son’s age was 
a matter of notoriety to all the town. All his comrades knew 
it. It was not as if he had been a student from a distance. 
We are Bologna people. He had lived here all his life. I 
firmly believe that it was deliberately planned to provide for 
the nullity of the marriage.” 

“ If I could only acquire a conviction that such was the 
case ! ” said Giulio, between his ground teeth. 

“ Why, what then ? Even if it were not so — if the man 
were not guilty in intention before the marriage, he was after- 
wards. Why did he not marr}’ his victim when the nullity of 
the marriage was discovered?” 

“The refusal to do so was bad enough,” replied Giulio, 
frowning heavily ; “ but not so base be^yond all precedent of 
baseness, as the preconcerted treachery which you attribiite to 
him. Weakness, criminal and contemptible enough if you 
will — want of courage to resist the threats and importunities 
of his family may — not palliate but — explain the latter con- 
duct. The former would implj’’ an excess of vileness beyond 
all example, and I confess, to my mind, almost beyond credi- 
bility.” 

“ The excess of vileness in an aristocrat which is bejmnd 
credibility, occupies a smaller and smaller space in the imagi- 
nation as one grows older in this part of the world. Signor 
Capitano. By the time one has reached seventy, the mind 
refuses to conceive anj'- such idea at all. Bemember that the 
Marchese Cesare Malatesta knew perfectly well that his hand 
was promised to a female of his own species. The courage 
needed to fly in the face of all those long-standing family ar- 
rangements, and upset them all bj^ making a marriage with a 
nobody, would have been surely as great as any that could 
have been needed to resist the pressure of his family after- 
wards ! No ! no ! The vile traitor knew what he was about 
from the beginning ! I have no doubt on the matter ! And 
my wise and sharp son was clever enough to lend his aid to 
a scheme which he would freely have sacrificed his life to 
prevent ! Ay, that he would, freely. Eor he was very fond 
of her who became your mother. He was so wise as to love 
her well enough to have given his life to secure her happiness 


MARTA VARANI. 


293 


with another man — the great, ngly, poor-spirited oaf!’^ said 
his mother, with bitterness, and a strange mixture of feelings 
at her heart ; “and she lovely enough to have won the love of 
the loveliest ! It needed a different sort of creature to snare 
her heart, I trow ! ” 

“ You must have been a very beautiful woman in your time, 
Signora Varani ! said Giulio, unceremoniously, looking at 
the old woman speculatively, and speaking the thoughts which 
his observation of her and her words generated in him, rather 
to himself than to her. 

“ I was so ! ” said the old woman, with a grim smile ; “ and, 

accordingly, I too tasted the sweets and the bitterness 

thereof. Both flavors have passed away ! ’’ 

“ Ay ! but it happens, sometimes, that the latter flavor re- 
mains in the mouth many a long year after the first has gone 
for ever ! ’’ said Giulio. 

“ How so ? returned the old woman, sharply, with a fierce 
flash from her eyes, and a scowl on her heavy brow. “ What 
is your meaning, Signor Capitano ? If you have any, speak 
it out at once, and plainly.” 

“ Is it not too plain that it is so? ” returned Giulio. calmly, 
and surprised at the old woman’s manner. “What has been 
the case with my unfortunate mother ? Do you think the 
bitterness is not still present with her, if, indeed, she is still 
living to suffer ? ” 

“ In the case of your mother? ” said Signora Varani, more 
quietly; “yes, doubtless it is so! She has been very unfor- 
tunate, and the bitterness of her fate, if I am to judge by my 
son’s letter, has not ceased with her, even if she herself has 
escaped from it.” 

“ As regards m3^self, jmu mean. Signora ? ” rejoined Giulio. 
“Naj^, m3’’ position in that respect weighs less heavily on me 

than you might imagine. Unless, indeed ” he added has- 

til3’’, as the thought of the influence his birth might exercise 
on his hopes of Stella dashed across his mind ; but he checked 
himself suddenl3’, and continued: “In truth, it irks me but 
little not to have been born the heir to a Marquisate. The 
days are at hand, nay, they have come, when it imports more 
to an Italian man what he is, than what his father was. I 
have made some steps towards finding for m3’sclf a place in 
the world which suits me better than that which would have 
been mine had the union of my parents been a legitimate one. 


294 


MARTA VARANI. 


I am not afraid of the prospect before me as regards treading 
the remainder of the path. Ko ! believe me, Signora, the sole 
thought that has brought me hither and urged me to my pres- 
ent quest, is the desire to know my mother, and the hope of 
alleviating her sorrows.’* 

“ And you do not burn with any noble ambition to be Mar- 
chese Malatesta and heir to all the Malatesta wealth, even if 
it were within your reach ? ” said Marta, looking fixedly at 
him. 

‘‘ Pooh ! pooh ! ” said he, smiling. “ How should I ever have 
thought of what is as much out of my reach as it would be to 
be the Emperor of Kussia? But, honestly, I have no more 
regret in not being one of those great potentates than the 
other. If jmu won’t think me too great a coxcomb, I don’t 
mind admitting. Signora, that I prefer, on the whole, being 
Captain Giulio Malatesta, of the Lancers, in his Piedmontese 
Majesty’s service ! ” 

“Unless, indeed as jmu were saying just now. Signor 

Capitano ? ” 

“Well, I stopped short in what I had been about to say. 
Signora, because I doubted whether I should like to go on !” 
said Malatesta, laughing; “but to the mother of rii}’’ friend 
Pietro I do not mind acknowledging,” he continued, with a 
bright blush, “ that the circumstances of mj’- birth would be 
felt as a calamity by me, if they should exercise a disastrous 
influence on m}'- hopes of winning the hand of a certain fair 
lady.” 

“ I suppose you have done the other part of the winning ? ” 
said the old woman, speaking more kindly to him than she had 
done hitherto. 

“ I have reason to hope that her heart is mine,” said Giulio. 

“ Would it be encroaching too far on your confidence to ask 
who the fair lady may be ? ” asked the old woman, with a 
very grim smile, which was intended to be a verj" kind one. 
“ Look you here. Signor Capitano,” she went on, before he had 
time to answer her, “I don’t like many people, and specially I 
am not apt to take a liking to new faces, however good-looking 
they may be, the first time of seeing them. But I do like a 
man who has no desire to become Marchese Malatesta, and 
who would rather make his own place in the world than find 
it ready made for him. And it ma}’^ be — it is possible that it 
might be — that I could lend you a helping hand in one way 
or another.” 


MARTA VARANI. 


295 


Thanks for your kind opinion, Signora. What you ask is 
no secret. The lady in question is the Contessina Stella Alta- 
mari of Florence. Strangely enough, I learn bj’' her letters, 
that since I have left Florence her familj’^ have proposed to her, 
and attempted to compel her to marry — of all people in the 
world that the malice of Fortune could have selected — the 
March esino Alfonso Malatesta of Fermo ! ’’ 

“ Your father’s legitimate son and heir! ” exclaimed the old 
woman — “ your half-brother ! By all the saints, it is a queer 
turn of Fortune’s wheel I What sort of a gentleman may this 
Marchesino be ? ” 

“ I know nothing of him — never saw him — scarcely ever 
heard of him. It is enough that Stella has no liking for him 
— would have no liking for him, even if he bad not been forced 
on her as a pretender to her hand.” 

“ How came such a proposal to be made ? ” asked Signora 
Varani. 

‘‘It was the doing of an uncle of the Contessina Stella’s, it 
seems — a certain Canonico Altamari. He is bent on uniting 
two large properties together.” 

“ So the Canonico Altamari is bent on marrying his niece. 
Has the lady father or mother ? ” 

“ Neither, Signora ; she lives with an aunt, the Contessa 
Zenobia Altamari.” 

“ The priest uncle is bent on marrying his niece to the Ma- 
latesta Marquisate, and the Malatesta estates ? ” 

“ That is the state of the case.” 

“And the Lady Stella prefers the illegitimate son, who 
fought at Curtatone, and is captain of Lancers, with no estates 
at all, to the legitimate Marquis, who is a faithful son of 
Mother Church, and who has all that such a legitimate Mar- 
quis and faithful son should have, eh ? ” 

“That also is, I believe, the state of the case,” answered 
Giulio, smiling at the odd manner of the old lady. 

“ Humph ! ” she said, placing both hands on the handle of 
her stick, and leaning her forehead upon them in front of her 
chair. 

“ Look you. Signor Capitano,” she resumed, after a pause, 
as she raised her head to look at him, “jmu shall do me the 
pleasure of leaving me for half an hour, for I want to think. 
Go and take a turn in the cloisters of the church over there ; 
it is a pleasant sunny place enough — it was there your poor 


296 


MARTA VARANI. 


mother used to walk and listen to the words of the noble gen- 
tleman who deceived her — and come back to me in half an 
hour. I want to think of a thing or two.” 

Giulio, not a little surprised, and somewhat amused at the 
strangeness of the old woman’s whims, did as he was bid ; and 
for want of any better mode of occupying the prescribed half- 
hour, adopted her suggestion of spending it in the Dominican 
cloister. 

It seemed that the old woman’s blunt request had expressed 
her purpose simply and truly. For as soon as tlie door had 
closed behind her guest, she remained awhile apparently 
plunged in absorbing meditation. 

^‘Ha, ha, ha! ho, ho, ho!” she laughed suddenljq with as 
much bitterness as merriment in her tone. “I swear by all 
the saints it would be worth doing, if it were only for the fun 
of it ! What a cawing and fluttering there would be in the 
rooker}’’ ! It don’t come easy, though, after so long,” she mut- 
tered to herself, after a pause ; “ and 3’et what should I care 
for now,” she continued, musingl}’’ ; I did care once ! I had 
my whistle, and paid for it ! I didn’t think it would ever cost 
so dear, though ! Now the pla}^ is over — veiy nearly over, as 
far as I have any part to play in it — very nearlj^ over ! What 
do I care what they say ! I wonder how I ever came to care 
so much as I did ! For I did care ! ‘ You must have been a 

handsome woman,’ said the young Captain ! There were 
others found that out before him. I suppose one cares more 
for what the world says, when one is fed on its admiration and 
praise ! Then, when the thing was done, it was terriblj'- dififl- 
cult to undo it again. There’s lots of other things like that. 
Then Pietro ? What about Pietro ? The largest and noblest 
heart, said the stranger, that ever was in a man’s bosom. He’s 
not far out, the stranger! I wonder how it was that Pietro and 
I were never closer to each other. I wish he had been a good- 
looking lad ! Yet it was for his sake — No ! that’s a lie, Marta 
Varani ! It was for 3'our own sake. And now, when jmur 
share of the game is over, jmu’ll make your snivelling confes- 
sion, and leave the shame of it to him. And yet — I wonder 
what Pietro would say, if he were asked ! Don’t I know that’s 
a lie again, to pretend to have aiyy doubt what he would say ! 
Let right be done, he would say I No mistake about that! 
The largest heart in that ugly misshapen carcase of his ! The 
Captain there could find that out, though that prettj'’ fool, 


MARTA VARANI. 


297 


Maddalena Tacca, could not. The largest and noblest heart, 
said he. My notion is, that his own is not one of the smallest 
or least noble ! I like that Captain Malatesta. He is hand- 
some outside as well as in. I wish I could have had such a 
son as he ! Well, well ! I have nearly done with wishing at 
this time of day ! Poor Pietro ! how would it be to him ? 
The Captain there has one misfortune ; he is on the sunny 
side of the world’s hedge, all but in that respect. He is 
brave, handsome, beloved by the girl he loves, stands well with 
his fellows and friends ! He is all right, save for the one blot. 
And my son, poor Pietro ! How much of the world’s sun- 
shine has he had ? And now to take the one blot out of the 
Captain’s lot and transfer it to his ! To say to him, ‘ This 
bright and happy fellow, jmur ffiend here, has got only one 
little burden laid on his shoulder by fate. You have such a 
fardel that it can’t make much difterence to you to carry his 
for him also !’ That is what I must say to Pietro. Ay ! but 
is it his and not Pietro’s ? Justice ! Pshaw ! When is there 
justice in this world ! It would be very hard on poor Pietro. 
Poor Pietro, who has so little of good on this earth ! Ho, 
Marta Varani, that is not it ! You are ljung again. I loill 
tell the truth to m^j'self, whoever else I may lie to ! It was 
for myself and not for him, that I did it ; and it is for myself 
and not for him, that I am now afraid of undoing it. What 
would it matter to him, the Professor at Pisa ! Hot the 
difference of a fig’s end ! What would it matter to the 
handsome young Captain there ? Everything ! Give him his 
wife! no doubt about that! Eind him his mother! Eor the 
old scoundrel at Fermo would have to speak out then, and 
if the poor soul is above ground we should soon find her. 
Give the scoundrel Marchese his due ! Make the aristocrats 
eat such dirt, that it would be a treat to see them at it ! 
Secure the wealth to the good cause ! And what stands in 
the way of all that ? Only I ! Hot Pietro ; only I. How to 
stand up against the scorn and the opprobrium, and the re- 
probation for not having spoken during these years ! That is 
the point ! It can’t be for long ; that’s one thing. The play 
is nearlj^ played out for me. If it were on!}’' quite played out ! 
If I could be sure the end was close at hand ! Wait till then ? 
Speak my secret, and then be off without waiting to hear what 
any one may have to say about it ! I do not think the end is 
far off ; and I am sure I am tired enough ! If I wait awhile, 


298 


MARTA VARANI. 


till I am sure of my escape ? Ay ! but waiting may spoil all 
for him.” 

At this point of the meditations, represented by the above 
phrases as accurately as the unspoken working of the mind can 
be translated into words, the old woman was interrupted by 
the return of Giulio from his half-hour’s banishment. Her 
first thought on his return was that she had not half done 
thinking yet — that she needed more time for coming to some 
decision on the doubts which had been the subject of her pon- 
dering. 

The half-hour is gone, is it ? ” she said ; I thought I had 
not been alone half that time ! Now, jmung sir, I will tell you 
what I recommend in the first instance. I can give the name 
and address of the people with whom your mother lodged at 
Belfiore, near Foligno. Go there, and ascertain if they can 
furnish you with any information, or any clue. It is possible ; 
and you would not be satisfied without having made the at- 
tempt. When you have done this, whether with any success 
or not, come back here to me. I do not despair of being able 
to help you. Come back, do you hear, in any case, whether 
you learn an 3 dhing at Belfiore or not. Do not take any further 
step without first coming back to me.” 

“ I will do so. Signora, in any case ; and feel truly grateful 
for your readiness to assist me,” said Giulio. 

“ Ah ! truly grateful ! And will jmu continue truly grate- 
ful to old Marta Yarani, if I should succeed in finding 3 ’our 
mother for jmu ? ” 

“ I trust so. Signora ! Surely I should, to the end of my 
days.” 

“ To the end of my days would be- enough ! Well, perhaps, 
we shall see ! Now I ^111 get you the address at Belfiore.” 

The old woman, after a little searching in a cabinet contain- 
ing a quantity of papers, took out an old yellow letter, which 
had been written to Pietro by the woman with whom Madda- 
lena had lodged at Belfiore, after her departure thence. From 
this she made him copy the name and address, and dismissed 
him. 

The next morning Giulio started for Foligno. 


THE SEALED PACKET. 


I 299 


CHAPTER HI. 

THE SEALED PACKET. 

It will not be necessary to follow Captain Malatesta in his 
expedition to Belfiore. It was tedious, disappointing, and 
finally fruitless. His first inquiries at the little village were 
met by the information, that the owner of the house in which 
his mother had lived more than twenty years ago had died 
shortly after that time ; that his widow had married again, 
and was now living at Viterbo. He went thither, and after 
some little difficultj’’ found out the person he was in quest of, 
only to be told that, though remembering all the circumstances 
to which he referred perfectly well, she was unable to afford 
him any information on the point in question. The poor lady 
had gone away, apparently willinglj’-, with the gentleman who 
had come from Rome, and who had represented himself as 
about to return thither immediately. A maid-servant, who 
had been living in the house at Belfiore at the time, had been 
just about to visit her relatives at Foligno at the time of the 
gentleman’s arrival from Rome. He had kindly permitted her 
to avail herself, on his return, of his. carriage for the little jour- 
ney from Belfiore to that city. She had sat in the carriage 
with the two travellers during the hour or so which that short 
drive would occup^L It was very possible, therefore, that she 
might have become acquainted with their plans when they 
should have arrived at Rome. This woman was still living at 
Belfiore. It was worth while to speak with her; especially as 
the little village at the foot of the Apennine was very little out 
of the road by which Giulio must needs return to Bologna. 

He went back again therefore to Belfiore; — to be again 
disappointed. The person in question remembered well her 
little journey to Foligno with the poor lady and the strange 
gentleman in black. All she could report was, that the lady 
was weeping during the whole time, and no word whatever 
passed between her and the gentleman. 

There appeared no further chance of obtaining at Belfiore 
any clue to the information he was in search of. Nevertheless, 
Giulio did not regret his journey thither. He had no diffi- 
culty in meeting with many persons who remembered the cir- 


300 


THE SEALED PACKET. 


cumstances of his mother’s residence in the village. Specially 
one, a daughter of the famiij’' in which she had lived, who 
must have been a j^ear or so younger than Maddalena Tacca, 
and who was at the time of Giulio’s visit living in the village, 
the mother of children now nearly of the same age, had ajipar- 
ently been her frequent companion, remembered her still with 
interest, and was well pleased to talk with Giulio by the hour 
together of his mother and of her habits and mode of life 
while at Belfiore. 

Susanna Biraggi — that was the married name of Maddale- 
na’s former companion — told at length how happy in each 
other the handsome young couple had appeared when they 
first came there. She related how letters had arrived which 
were as the first gathering clouds of the storm, that so soon 
wrecked that summer-tide happiness. She described the grow- 
ing paleness of the young bride's cheek, and growing aliena- 
tion of the man on whose affection her life-springs depended. 
She told the story of his departure ; of the lingering hope, 
which would not be killed, that he would return ; of the letters 
from Fermo, and the terrible despair which followed them. 
She showed Giulio the favorite walk beneath the poplars by 
the side of the little stream, where it issues from its ravine in 
the Apennine, where his mother used to take her solitary walk, 
and the stone bench under the roadside Madonna, where day 
after day, with ever renascent hope, she would await the com- 
ing of the postman from Foligno. 

All these reminiscences were inexpressibly valuable to Giu- 
lio. He led his new acquaintance again and again to describe 
to him the regular-featured, oval-visaged, delicate-complexioned 
beauty of his mother’s face, and the tall, slender finger, so elas- 
tic in its springy gait at first, so sadly drooping in the latter 
part of her residence among the villagers. He felt, as he 
listened to all this, and fed his fancy with the images supplied 
by the associations attached to the localities, as if the individ- 
uality of his unknown mother was assuming a consistency in 
his imagination, which made it possible for her to become the 
object of a more personal and less merely theoretic love than 
he had before been capable of feeling for her. 

Giulio returned from Belfiore to Bologna without having 
made the smallest step in advance towards the discovery of his 
mother. 

On his return to Bologna, he found the letter from Stella, 


THE SEALED PACKET. 


301 


which has been given in a former chapter, awaiting him at the 
post-office ; and at his hotel a note written by a stranger on be- 
half of Signora Varani, urgently requesting him to lose no time 
in coming to her. He hurried off to the Piazza di San Domen- 
ico, anxiously weighing in his mind, as he walked, the probable 
value of the mysterious hints in Stella’s strange communica- 
tion. 

The door of Signora Varani’s apartment was opened to him 
by a stranger, who was, however, evidently aware that he was 
expected. 

“ You are, I presume, the Signor Capitano Malatesta ? ” 
said the stranger. “ You have come in time ; and that is 
about as much as can be said. The Signora Marta cannot last 
many hours. She has been very anxious for your coming. I 
am Onesimo Badaloni, doctor of medicine, at 3’^our service.” 

“Not last many hours ! What has been the nature of her 
malady ? ” 

“ Mainly old age ! ” replied the phj^sician. “ She has lived 
her time, and is worn out, that is all. There have been slight 
symptoms of paralysis of the heart, which in her case is likely 
enough to have been brought on by any unusual excitement or 
emotion. At seventy years of age these things are occasions 
but not causes ! — Yes, you can see her at once. She is per- 
fectly herself, and has been anxiously asking for you — wanting 
to send to the hotel, to see if you had returned, every half-hour. 
Come in. Signore. I will just tell her you are here.” 

In half a minute Doctor Badaloni returned from the inner 
room, saying that the dying woman begged Captain Malatesta 
to come to her immediately. 

As he entered the room, he met the gaze of the old woman, 
as she sat propped up in bed, looking eagerly towards the door. 
Her face seemed yet more shrunken and fallen than before ; 
and her breath appeared to come short, and with some little 
difficult3^ But there were the great black eyes, flaming out 
more brightlj’- and fiercely than ever, Giulio thought, from the 
yellow, desiccated parchment-looking face. 

“ So you have come at last ! Well for 3mu that jmu did not 
delay a little longer; for I should not have waited for you, I 
can tell you ! Now have the kindness, Signor Capitano, to 
see if the doctor has left the honse, and if the door is shut 
after him ; and call the girl out of the kitchen to me. You 
are not to open the door,” slie said to the girl, “ to any one 


302 


THE SEALED PACKET. 


while this gentleman is with me, do you understand ? And. 
you are to stay in the kitclien yourself, and sliut the door, do 
you hear? Do you close the door of this room after her, Sig- 
nor Capitano ! So ! now I can say what I have to say to one 
pair of ears only. Stop a minute ! ’’ 

After lying back on the pillow for a few instants, with her 
eyes closed to rally her failing strength, she continued : 

“ It is not an easy matter to say what I have to say even 
to one hearer, you see ; and therefore I have no wish for more. 
Again and again I have been tempted to wish that you might 
not come back in time, and then I should have died and kept 
my secret ; and it would not have been my fault. You are in 
luck ! and in good time. 1 suppose,” she added, after another 
pause of a minute or so, ‘‘that you did not succeed in getting 
any information at Belfiore ?” 

“No ! Signora Varani ! I met with people who remembered 
my poor mother well, and who could tell me many things 
about her, but nothing to furnish any clue to her present re- 
treat. On my return to this citj'', however, I found a letter 
from the young lady I mentioned to you the other day, hold- 
ing out the hope that the Superior of the convent in which 
she has been placed, may be able to give me the information 
I am in search of. It would seem from her letter as if she 
were herself in possession of more definite information, but 
were, for some reason or other, forbidden to speak more 
clearly.” 

“ Where is the convent in which the young lady is resid- 
ing?” asked Signora Varani. 

“ At Montepulciano ; — a convent of Ursulines,” replied 
Giulio. 

“ The most likely thing for them to have done with her was 
to bury her in a convent, poor thing ! ” returned the old 
woman ; “ and it is probable enough that the Superior may 
know something of her. Those people always keep up a cor- 
respondence between one house and another of the same order. 
What shall you do?” 

“ I must go and speak with this Abbess,” said Giulio; “it 
is what Stella’s letter invites me to do.” 

“ Ah ! but you must first do what I am going to invite you 
to do. When you have done that, you will find your mother 
safe enough, — if she is alive. You told me the other day. 
Signor Capitano, that I must have been a beautiful woman in 


THE SEALED PACKET. 


803 


my day. Well, I was so ! There were few girls in Bologna 
more thought of than 1 was, when I was in my prime. I 
was no worse than your mother was, Signor Capitano, and she 
was a great beauty. Well ! What happened to your mother, 
happened to me. Not quite the same, though, to be honest ; 

I knew what I was doing and she did not. llie man I loved 
was worthy of a woman’s love. He became my husband — as 
soon as circumstances made it convenient for him to do so.” 

The dying woman lay back on the pillows gasping with the 
effort it had cost her to speak the above sentences. Giulio 
offered her a glass of water, but she put his hand away, and 
remained perfectly still, but for the laborious heaving of her 
chest, for several minutes. 

“ Now give me a drink of water,” she said, at the end of 
that time. There, that will do,” she continued ; “ I am not 
dead yet. I have time enough for what remains to be said. 
Pietro little thought, when he sent you to me, what I could 
do for you ! Tell him so; tell him that I sacrificed the object 
of a lifetime, and spent my last breath in doing it, because I 
knew that if he were here it is what he would wish me to do. ^ 
Now take this paper,” she continued, drawing a sealed packet 
from beneath the pillows under her head. “I prepared this 
after you were gone, as soon as I saw that my end was at 
hand. But I am not sure that I should not have destroyed it, 
if you had not come back in time. Take it! There is a 
statement in it made before a notary and witnessed by him. 
Perhaps it was not necessary to make it. But what is more 
to the purpose, and would, I suppose, have sufficed without the 
other, there is the address of a place in the south of France to 
which jmu will have to go. Perhaps you may be short of 
money for such a journe3^ Take from that cabinet the rou- 
leau you will see just inside the door. There are two hundred 
and fiftj" dollars. You will give all that yon do not need to 
Pietro ; and repay him afterwards whatever you use of it. 
You will find directions what you are to do ; it is all clear 
enough — and as soon as you have the necessary papers you 
will come back here at once, and cause right to be done.” 

Here again she stopped, exhausted, and remained for several 
minutes with her e^’es closed, and breathing heavily, while 
Giulio stood, with the packet in his hand, anxiously watching 
the flickering flame of the expiring life, and lost in astonish- 
ment at what he had heard. 


804 


THE SEALED PACKET. 


“ Perhaps,” she said, after a time, I may not he so near 
my end as I tlionght for. Maybe, I may live yet a day or 
two ! I am sure I don’t want to ! I have had enough of it. 
But what I was going to say was this; and mind you obey 
me !” she added, with a momentary gleam of the old tire in her 
eyes : You are not to open that packet till the breath is out 
of my body, do jmu hear ? As soon as I am dead, but not 
before ! Do 3^11 promise me ? ” 

“ Certainl}'’, Signora ! The papers are yours ! ” 

A3- ! and the secret is mine ; mine, as long as the breath 
remains in m3^ body. You promise ? ” 

“I have promised. Signora. This packet shall not be 
opened by me till after your death.” 

‘‘Ver3^ good! Now you ma}'' tell the girl that she may 
open the door, and let the priest come in when he arrives. 
The doctor said he would send bim. Not that old Marta 
Varani wants any priest to help her to die ! But they make 
such a bother, you see, that it is easiest to let them have their 
w*ay ! Signor Capitano, I am glad my son sent 3mu to me. 
When 3mu know my secret, don’t be bard upon me ; and re- 
member, that if I began b}" doing 3’ou an ill turn, I ended by 
doing you a very good one. Addio ! ” 

‘‘ But I can’t leave you in this wa}’, cara mia Signora, alone 

with that girl ! Pray allow me to remain with you ” said 

Giulio, feeling it to be impossible to abandon the dying old 
W'oman to the care of the young girl, who was the only living 
creature in the solitary habitation wdth her. Old Marta 
W'ould not hear of his remaining. 

“No! no! 3’'ou must be off, and that quickly,” she said, 
“for I have to give up into proper safe keeping papers that 
would hang and ruin half Bologna. He who is to take charge 
of them will be here directl}". Addio, Signor Capitano ! If I 
die in the course of the night, you may be off on 3"our journey 
to-morrow^ morning.” 

Thus dismissed, Giulio had no choice but to leave the old 
woman as she bade him. 

As Giulio stepped out upon the still piazza, with no occupa- 
tion before him in Bologna save to wait for the last sigh of 
the strange w^oman he had just left, he turned into the quiet 
cloister in which he had spent half an hour at the old woman’s 
bidding on a former occasion, deeply musing on the strangeness 
of the scene he had just passed through, and on all the possi- 


THE SEALED PACKET. 


305 


bilities tbafc occurred to him as an explanation of the secret 
which had been confided to liim. 

What was the meaning of the hints which the dying woman 
had let drop of a similarity between her fate and that of his 
mother? This journey to France? What could that have to 
do with the discovery of his mother’s place of retreat? Flad 
!^^arta Varani the means of knowing that she was in France ? 
What could be the explanation of her anxiety that the secret, 
whatever it might be, should not be discovered till after her 
death ? 

He drew out the sealed envelope which had been given him, 
and gazed at it ! — a cover of thick coarse paper, and a large 
seal, with the impress on it of a small coin ! The packet was 
not large or heavy. There could be no great quantity of 
writing in it! 

Then he took from his pocket Stella’s letter, and sat himself 
down on the slab beneath tlie marble effigy of the ancient 
warrior, which marked the spot where his mother had so often 
listened to the false wooing that had lured her to her fate ; and 
liaving first cast a sharp glance along the cloister riglit and 
left of him, to make sure that he was alone, as his father had 
done in tlie same spot of yore, he pressed the letter to his lips, 
and then proceeded to re-read it, slowly and deliberately, savor- 
ing every word of it. Of course the perusal was exquisitely 
delightful to him. But when he came to read for tlie third 
time, and ponder on those parts in which the mysterious hints 
were thrown out of the probability that a clue might be fur- 
nished him to the finding of his mother, and compare them 
with what he had been hearing from the mother of the Pro- 
fessor, he could make nothing of the mystery. The old woman, 
who was then dying in the neighboring house, had strictly en- 
joined on him to go first on the errand on which she was send- 
ing him to France, before proceeding to see the Abbess at 
Montepulciano. Should he obey her in this respect ? Tho 
temptation that drew him towards Montepulciano was veiy 
strong. Yet, again, Signora Varani, when he had told her of 
Stella’s hints respecting the information to be derived from 
the Abbess, had seemed to think it probable that the desired 
clue might be found in that manner! 

Possibly the opening of the packet would furnish him with 
the means of comprehending the matter, and coming to a 
decision respecting his movements, as soon as the old woman 
19 


I 


306 


THE SEALED PACKET. 


should be no more. Till that event, he was fully decided to 
remain in Bologna. 

Before leaving that part of the city to return to his inn, he 
went up again to the door of Signora Varani’s apartment, and 
inquired after her of the girl wluo opened the door. He was 
told that she seemed to be no worse, and that she was engaged 
in business with a gentleman who had come shortly after he, 
Giulio, had left the liouse. It was very possible, he thought 
to himself, that the old woman might live some days longer — ■ 
on the cards, even, that she might so far recover as to live for 
years ! And with these thoughts in his head, he sat down to 
write to Stella in answer to her letter, intending to enclose his 
to her in one to the Superior of the convent. 

“ Bologna, January 29, 1»51. 

“ I wonder, my own beloved, whether you can figure to 
yourself the delight jmur darling letter has given me. Oh ! 
my Stella, when I think that the dreary, dreary months of 
your imprisonment have been the penalty’- and the proof of 
3’our love, I have no words which can express to you my ten- 
derness and gratitude. I cannot repent, my beloved, though 
my heart bleeds to think on what y^ou have gone through ; and 
my admiration for the heroism of ymur resistance admonishes 
me what the man ought to be who should be worthy of j'ou. 

“ Of course you will have imagined ail the wondering, and 
puzzling, and speculation which the latter part of ymur letter 
is causing me. You will see also, by^ the date of this, that it 
has been an extraordinary long time in reaching me. Why it 
should have been so I have no means of guessing. You excuse 
3'ourself for writing mysteriously, telling me that y-ou are not 
permitted to speak more clearly^ Will you believe that I am 
not revenging myself in kind when you shall read this letter, 
and find that I am about to write to you in precisely similar 
strain, with a precisely similar excuse. It is strange enough 
that two such perfectly un mysterious persons as you and I 
should find themselves obliged each to play the spbynx to the 
other ! 

“ My riddle is as follows : 

“ You know with what object I have come to Bologna. You 
know enough of my poor mother’s story to understand wliy' it 
should seem possible that some cine to her place of conceal- 
ment might be found in this city. You will, no doubt, remem- 


THE SEALED PACKET. 


307 


ber, also, the unfortunate connection between her miserable 
story and my excellent friend Professor Varani at Pisa. Well ! 
he gave me a letter to his mother, a very strange old lady, 
living here all by herself, at sevent}’’ years of age, or near it. 
Some day I will describe to 3'ou at length her eccentric manner 
of receiving me. Por the present, it will suffice to tell you 
of the upshot of my interviews with her. In the first place, 
she sent me off to Belfiore, a village near Poligno, where mj'- 
mother lived immediately after her unhappy marriage. It 
was possible that tidings might be heard of her there, and I 
went. I did, indeed, succeed in gathering many reminiscences 
of her from those who recollected her, which were inexpressi- 
bly precious to me, but no shadow of information that could 
help me to discover her. I returned hither, and found in the 
first place j’-our dear letter, my own love, infinitely* dear, despite 
all its intelligibilities ; for would it not be so, even if couched 
in hieroglyphics, so that it were only certain that your own 
darling little hand had traced them ! 

“ I found, also, a summons calling me in all haste to the 
bedside of Signora Varani, who had been taken suddenly^ ill 
during my absence, and who was, and is still, to all appear- 
ances, dying. Well, my Stella, she handed me a sealed 
packet, making me promise solemnly not to open it till after 
her death, and at the same time telling me that she was ren- 
dering me a great service; that I must immediately after her 
death go to the south of Prance, to an address which I shall 
find within the packet, and that I shall, after that, have no 
difficulty in finding my mother! I have determined to obey 
her, and go to the place to which I am directed. I will not 
throw away the possibility of a chance. Moreover, the old lady 
laid much stress on her injunctions that I should make this 
journey before going to Montepulciano. Por I told her all 
about the my'sterious hopes held out in your letter. I shall 
obey’’ Signora Varani in this also. There was a strange man- 
ner about her which strongly impressed me with the idea that 
she knew more about the matter than she chose to tell me. 

Here, then, my Stella, is my my’stery ; and I flatter my- 
self that, mystery for my’^steiy, it is as my^sterious as y’ours. 

“ My’’ own, what shall I say to ymu of myself? I can make 
no pretence to bravery, constancy, and heroism such as y’ours, 
dearest 1 My life, since the great piece of good fortune which 
gave me my’- commission, has been a humdrum and ordinary 


808 


THE SEALED PACKET. 


one enoiigli, busied with the regular duties of my profession, 
but prosperous to a degree truly beyond my deserts. My pros- 
pects for the future are good. I may say to you, my own love, 
that I staad well with my superiors, and look forward to my 
career with the confidence of doing something. The opportu- 
nity, moreover, will not be wanting ; for, depend on it, Stella, 
Italy has not said her last word. Our recent heavy mischances 
have been a check, but not a final defeat. There will be, 
assuredly, work for Italian swords before long ! The upward 
path will be open to those who are minded to tread it. 

“ And now, dearest, I must bring this unconscionably long 
letter to an end. I am about to enclose it in one to jmur Su- 
perior, knowing well that that is the only means by which it 
can reach you. From your account of the Abbess, I presume 
that it has a fair chance of doing so through her. My letter 
to her will, of course, be merely to say that, in consequence of 
the messages which have reached me, I shall wait upon her 
at the earliest date my avocations will permit of my doing so. 

“I must in anj^ case remain here till all shall be over with 
the poor old Signora Varani. As soon as that is the case, and 
I am at liberty to break the seal of her packet, I shall write 
again. 

Your own 

Giulio. 

“P.S. — Tidings have reached me of certain differences in 
your ecclesiastical world of Montepulciano, which might 
eventually lead to the removal of your Abbess to Florence, 
and, as a consequence, to your own recall thither. I hardl}" 
know whether such an event would be desirable for us or not, 
under all the circumstances. But I do not hesitate to address 
this letter to Montepulciano. 

‘ Once again, my beloved one, now and ever, 

Your own 

“ Giulio.’’ 

The letter to the Abbess, in which the foregoing was eii' 
closed, ran as follows : 

Eevekend Mother, — 

“ I take the liberty of addressing jmur maternity in conse- 
quence of a communication received by me from the lady to 


THE SEALED PACKET. 


809 


whom the enclosed is addressed, and to whom, I trust, you 
will feel it to be consistent with your duty to deliver it. The 
letter from her, to which I refer, though bearing date some 
months since, only reached me at this city 3"esterda3^ The 
delaj’- in replying to it, therefore, has been from no neglect of 
mine. 

“ It appears, from what the Lady Stella has written, that some 
conversations have passed between your maternitj’’ and her, 
from which certain particulars of my personal historj^ have 
become known to 3'ou, and you have been made aware of my 
earnest wish and endeavor to find out the unfortunate mother 
from whom I was separated before I could have the blessing 
of knowing her. It would seem also, from what the Contessi- 
na Stella writes to me, that 3mur maternity has reason to sup- 
pose that it might be possible for 3^11 to afford me information 
which might assist me in the search in which I am engaged ; 
and that with so hoi 3' and charitable an object in view, 3mu 
W'ould have the kindness to admit me to speech with your 
maternity, if I would wait upon 3^11 at Montepulciano. 
Business here, connected with the same great object of my 
life, makes it impossible for me instantly to go to Montepul- 
ciano for this purpose; but your maternity may rely on my 
not failing to do so ver3^ shortly. 

“ With the most heartfelt thanks for the charity which has 
prompted 3mur maternity to offer your assistance to a mother- 
less son engaged in a quest which cannot but be deemed a 
holy and pious one, 

“ I am, of your maternity, 

‘‘ The obedient and devoted son, 

“ Giulio Malatesta, Captain.” 

It was late in the night before Giulio had completed, sealed, 
and addressed his letters. Early the next morning his first 
care was to post his packet, and his second to hurr3^ to the 
Piazza di San Domenico. He met the medical man coming 
down the staircase, and learned from him that Signora Vara- 
ni had rallied a little during the night ; that it was ver3^ pos- 
sible she might live 3'et g, few da3"s ; but that he did not think 
it at all probable that her life would be prolonged be3’oud that 
time. 

There was nothing for it, therefore, but for Giulio to resign 
himself, with such patience as he might, to awaiting the event 
in Bologna. 


810 


Stella’s return home. 


CHAPTEK IV. 

Stella’s return home. 

On the first of March — about four weeks, that is to say, 
after the date of the letters given in the last chapter— a large 
packet arrived from Montepulciano at Florence, addressed, 
“To the Very Keverend and Illustrious Signor, the Signor 
Canonico Adalberto Altamari.” It was sealed with the seal 
of the Chancery of the Diocese of Montepulciano, and it con- 
tained the two letters from Giulio to the Abbess and to Stella, 
together with another to the Canonico Altamari, couched in 
the following terms : 

“Vert Eeverend Sir, and Esteemed Brother in 
Christ : — 

“ Be3"ond all doubt, your reverence, placed as you are by 
Providence and by your illustrious rank in a position in the 
metropolis which enables you to observe and take note of the 
transactions of the Universal Church, will have had your at- 
tention called to the deplorable disorders and scandals which 
have vexed and are still likely further to afflict this poor dio- 
cese of Montepulciano. It is well known in high quarters, 
and therefore, of course, to your illustrious reverence, that the 
many Christian graces and admirable virtues which adorn the 
character of our estimable Bishop, and which, despite the ad- 
verse feeling of nearly every other dignitary in the diocese, 
have rendered him especially beloved and honored by me, are, 
nevertheless, not of that kind which are needed for the judi- 
cious government and administration of a diocese in these 
difficult times. The result is, that very deplorable irregulari- 
ties and scandals have arisen, to the great grief and perplex- 
ity of the more judicious, more zealous, and more right- 
minded members of the clergy ; and that a larger portion of 
the duty of struggling against these, and finding remedies for 
them, has fallen on my humble shoulders than would have 
been the case in a diocese ruled by — I may venture to say in 
confidence to your illustrious reverence — a more competent 
Bishop. It is unquestionably true that the responsible and 
laborious position of Chancellor of this diocese, in which, after 


Stella’s return home. 


311 


having labored for a long course of years, I was suffered to 
remain at the death of our late Bishop, of blessed memory, 
to the surprise ccrtainlj^ but God forbid that I should say to 
the scandal of all the diocese^ renders it fitting that I should 
not shrink from the discharge of duties that, in a more for- 
tunately-circumstanced churcli, would fall to the share of the 
Bishop. It is true, also, that the office of Director of the 
Convent, the internal government of which has brouglit it re- 
cently so disastrously before the Christian world, has been 
discharged by me, I think I may venture to saj^, in such a 
manner as to have secured the unvarying confidence and 
esteem of tliose holy sisters for very many years ; and that 
this ciromnstance also makes it, in a great measure, incum- 
bent upon me to supply the want occasioned by what the gen- 
eral voice, less favorable than my own sentiments dispose me 
to feel towards him, does not scruple to call the deplorable in- 
efficiency and incompetency of the Bishop. 

It is under these circumstances, and for these reasons, 
very reverend and illustrious sir, that I have felt it to be my 
duty to promote an inquiry into certain particulars of the 
character and conduct of the Superior, wlio was recently ap- 
pointed to the government of the convent of Ursuline nuns 
in this city. And 3*011 will readily comprehend, veiy reverend 
and illustrious sir, that in taking all the circumstances of the 
case into my consideration, and being aware that the convent 
is honored bj'’ having been selected bj'’ 3'ou as the temporary 
residence of j^our niece, the Signora Contessa Stella Altamari, 
I have felt it to be m}’’ duty to communicate to you the posi- 
tion of the community and the suspicions that attach to the 
character of the Superior. That person will in all probability 
very shortlj'' be summoned by the ecclesiastical authorities to 
Florence, with a view to her deposition from the high office to 
which she was as unfortunatel}*, as, I venture to think, incon- 
siderately, promoted ; and as it has appeared to me probable 
that 3’’our illustrious reverence might think it desirable, under 
these circumstances, to recall 3mur niece, I should therefore 
have shorcl}’- done myself the honor of writing to your rever- 
ence, even if the enclosed extraordinarj’’ letters had not fallen 
into my hands. Of cour.se, when that occurred, I at once saw 
the propriety of forwarding them to you. As soon as the 
necessity of instituting an inquiry into the conduct of this 
strangely delinquent Superior became apparent, naturallj^ one 


812 


Stella’s return home. 


of the first steps to take was to intercept her correspondence. 
For a long time no light could be obtained bj’’ this means; for 
she received no letters. But at last my vigilance was reward- 
ed by the possession of those herewith enclosed. I need not 
point out to your reverence the importance of them both as 
regards the possible antecedents of this dangerous woman, 
the truly abominable breach of trust of which she has been 
guilty with regard to your niece, and, lastly, as regards the 
conduct and views of the illustrious lady the Contessa Stella 
herself. 

“ Without presuming to enter into reflections on this latter 
part of the subject, I content myself with calling your rever- 
ence’s prudent and experienced attention to the hopes and 
feelings expressed in the atrociously audacious letters of this 
man who signs himself Giulio Malatesta ; and who, as far as I 
can gather from the letters themselves, and from such inquiries 
as I have been able to make, must be an illegitimate son of 
the Marchese Cesare Malatesta of Fermo. You will observe 
that this shameless vagabond proposes to present himself at 
the Ursuline convent here in Montepulciano. Should you 
think it expedient to obtain an order for his arrest, it might 
be easily executed on his putting his avowed intention into 
execution, without any difflculty or disturbance. All such 
considerations, however, together with any others, which the 
perusal of these infamous letters ma^’- suggest to the wisdom 
and prudence of your illustrious reverence, I leave to ^mur 
high decision ; and pass on without further encroaching on 
jmur valuable time, to the honor of subscribing mj-self, 

“ With sentiments of the most distinguished esteem and 
respect of your illustrious reverence, the most humble and 
devoted servant, an unworthy brother in Christ, 

“ Domenico Tonli, 
Chancel. Dioc. Montis Pul.’’ 

If the writers of the three letters which thus reached the 
hands of the Canonico Adalberto had been invisibly present 
when they were read by him, the Very Keverend the Chan- 
cellor of the Diocese of Montepulciano would have been the 
most dissatisfied with the result produced by the reading of 
them. Giulio’s letters to his love and to the Abbess were 
read with great attention and considerable interest, which was 
marked by sundry pauses of meditation over their contents, 


Stella’s return home. 


813 


and here and there a ^Miumph,” uttered more in the tone of a 
man considering his adversary’s move in a game of chess, than 
of one excited to anger or even surprise. 

Well ! ” he muttered to himself, when he had come to the 
end of poor Giulio's letters, “let him find his mother, if he 
can. Upon the whole, it would be more likely to put another 
spoke in his wheel, and lend us a help, than the reverse ! 
Likely enough that she may have been placed in a convent by 
the Cardinal. Not unlikely that this Abbess may have some 
knowledge of her! But what this old mad woman at Bologna 
— what is the name ? — Varani — means by her sealed packet 
and her journey to Brance, who can guess? Any way, I don’t 
think she is likel}’’ to help my young friend to marry the 
heiress of the Altamari ! Her son, a Professor at Pisa ! That 
is worth taking a note of. Possibly a little pressure on this 
gentleman, who is so excellent a friend of our .young spark 
may prove to be useful. Aha ! so they count on our prefer- 
ring to allow our heiress to marry a vagabond without a sou 
to seeing the property go to a distant heir! We shall find 
the means of dissipating that illusion very easily ! And our 
3mung Bayard is going to make himself Generalissimo of tlie 
revolutionary arm^'^, and come to demand his bride when he is 
such a great man, that the Altamari will be onlj' too proud of 
his alliance ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! And ‘ Italy has not said her 
last word yet!’ JPer Dio ! No, m}- y’oung friend ! Tliat has 
she not. And if 3mu do not chance to be shot as a rebel taken 
in arms before jmur greatness comes upon j^ou, win*, then it 
will be time enough to think of giving up the game.” 

This was the train of thought produced in the brain of the 
scheming Canonico by the perusal of Giulio’s letters ; but 
when he finished reading the laboriously written epistle, the 
composition of which had cost his provincial brother Canon so 
much thought and pains, he tossed it aside with a “Pish!” 
and a muttered “ Old fool ! As if I had not known all he can 
tell me long ago! It would serve him right to send his letter 
to the Bishop ! Only it would be a sin against the golden 
rule, ‘Never do any man an ill turn, when there is nothing to 
be got by it!’ It’s just as well, though, tliat these letters 
have been intercepted before they reached their destination. 
And they show that the recall of this willful little Contessina 
has been put off too long already. Our friend Bayard, the 
renegade King’s Generalissimo in posse, thinks that her coming 


814 


Stella’s return home. 


to Florence will give him an opportunity of seeing her here, as 
he is good enough to observe. We shall see \ ” 

So musing, the Canonico Adalberto went off to the Palazzo 
Altamari to seek an interview with his sister-in-law. It was 
an earlier hour than that at which the Canon usually made his 
rare visits at the palazzo ; for he had come immediately after 
reading his morning letters. He rarel}’’ came near the family 
palazzo at all, save on matters of business, as in the present 
instance, or on occasions of ceremonious visits, such as on 
New Years’-days, and birthdays, or name-daj’-s rather, and 
such-like. He was on this occasion shown into Zenobia’s 
morning-room, where Mademoiselle Zelie shortly came to him, 
to tell him, with a very low curtesy, and standing just inside 
the door — for Zelie stood desperately in awe of the Canon, and 
considered him to be a sort of incarnation of the Inquisition — 
that the Signora Contessa would have much pleasure in seeing 
him in her chamber. 

The Canonico Adalberto did not wait many minutes before 
the Marchese Florimond came to him. 

I wished to speak with the Contessa this morning about 
my niece, the Contessina Stella,^’ the Canonico said ; “ circum- 
stances have arisen which appear to make the convent at 
Montepulciaiio no longer a desirable residence for her.” 

“ What would your reverence propose doing?” asked the 
Marchese Florimond. 

“ My notion,” said the priest, would be to bring her home 
here at once ; to profit by the opportunity to watch her nar- 
rowly, and ascertain whether her courage has been at all 
shaken ; and, at the same time, never to allow her to lose sight 
of the fact, that submission is the only means of saving her- 
self from a speedy return to life in a cloister.” 

“I am sure the Contessa will feel the wisdom of deferring 
to jmur opinion. Signor Canonico,” replied the little man, 
anxious to avoid having to express any opinion before the 
Contessa should have given him his cue. “ She will be here 
in a minute or two. If you will allow me, I will go and see 
whether she is coming.” 

The Marchese escaped accordingly. 

In a very few minutes he came back, accompanied by the 
Contessa Zenobia, who had evidently lost no time in dis- 
missing her gentleman of the bed-chamber, and preparing her- 
self for the decorous reception of her formidable ecclesiastical 
brother-in-law. 


Stella’s return homeT 315 

She came into the room with a jerking, jaunty step, half 
dance, half hobble. 

Good morning. Signora ! ” he said ; “ my excuse for dis- 
turbing you so early must be found in the importance of the 
business on which I have to speak to you.” 

“ Ah ! The Marchese here has been telling me ! To think 
of an Abbess having effected no good in all this time !” 

The more immediate question for us. Signora, seems to 
be, whether it would not be well to bring the Contessina Stella 
home at once, before further mischief — or, indeed, I may say, 
before anj^ serious mischief has been done ? ” 

“ What ? bring her here to turn up her nose at the Marchese 
Alfonso ! I tell you what it is, your reverence, we shall never 
bring him up to the scratch, let alone her, if we show them too 
much of each other ! ” 

“ Signor Contessa,” said the churchman, ‘‘1 did not intend 
to propose that the Contessina should be allowed to share in 
the brilliant society which you are celebrated for collecting 
around you. I would suggest, that, supposing, as we have 
reason to fear, that the young lady still shows herself obdurate, 
she should live for the short time which must intervene before 
W’e can find some proper asjdum for her, entirely in her own 
chamber, and an adjoining room, on the second floor of the 
palace. This arrangement would give me also the opportunity 
to visit her occasionally, and try whether the counsels and ar- 
guments I could lay before her might have the effect of bring- 
ing her to reason.” 

I think 3 mu’re right. Monsieur le Canon ! I give my en- 
tire consent. There is nothing like preaching, to tire one's 
heart out ! If j’ou could stand it yourself — and you might 
get help, for that matter — and would not mind giving her a 
dose of a couj)le of hours or so two or three times a day, depend 
upon it she would give in. I am sure I should consent to 
anything, if it was tried upon me ! added the fascinating, 
light-hearted little creature, with a shrill laugh. 

“ What will be the best plan. Signor Canonico, for bring- 
ing the Contessina home ? ” asked the Marchese Florimond, 
wishing to make a diversion. 

“ I think I shall do well to go and bring her to Florence 
mj'self,’* replied the Canon, “ it may be that I may pick up 
some information there that may be worth our having.” 

It was decided that Stella was to be brought back to Flor- 


816 


Stella’s return home. 


ence, preparatory to being sent off to some new place of con- 
finement and moral torment, if she should still obstinately re- 
fuse to yield to the wishes of her family. 

It made no part of the Canon Altamari’s plan to enter in 
anj’- way into the causes of complaint which he might have 
against the Abbess, and still less to meddle with the differences 
which might exist between her and her ecclesiastical superiors. 
The latter was supremely uninteresting to him ; and as to the 
former, the Canon was one of those men who expend as little 
as possible of their energies on the past and irremediable. He 
was capable of any cruelt}^ or oppression for the purpose of 
compelling another to submit to his will ; but had no strong 
desire to inflict vengeance on any one for not having done so 
with regard to a matter which could not influence the future. 
Bygones were alwaj’S absolutely bj’gones with him ! He was 
an essentially practical man, and habituall}'- turned all his 
thoughts and all his efforts to^the future and the practicable, 
to the utter neglect of that which was already past, irrevocable, 
or out of his power. 

It was also the purpose of the Canon Altamari to allow as 
little time as might be for any leave-taking between Stella and 
the Abbess. He hoped, moreover, by the suddenness of his 
operations at Montepulciano, to escape any interview with Don 
Domenico Tondi, which he instinctively felt would be su- 
premely disagreeable to him. 

There is nothing a Roman Catholic ecclesiastic, who is much 
of a gentleman, and veiy little of a priest, hates more than 
being brought into relations with a brother ecclesiastic who is 
very little a gentleman, and very much a priest. 

It was a great and painful shock botli to the Abbess and 
to Stella, when a letter from the Canon Altamari was brought 
one morning to the former, intimating that in about an hour 
he should have the honor of waiting on the Superior for the 
purpose of receiving his niece from her h.aiids and conducting 
her to Florence. As it was uncertain, the letter stated, 
whether she would return to Montepulciano, the Canon re- 
quested that the hour which would elapse before he should 
have the pleasure of seeing her might be employed in making 
any preparation for her quitting the convent which might be 
necessary. It grieved him, the writer added, not to have been 
able to allow the convent and his niece a longer notice of her 
recall ; but the necessary arrangements for the journey, and 


Stella’s return home. 


81T 


his own many and pressing avocationSj must furnish his 
excuse. 

On tlie 5th of March, as he liad said, the Canon arrived in 
Florence with his niece, and brought her safely to the palace 
in the Via Larga, where she was at once consigned, under the 
pit^ying but incorruptible gaolership of Zelie to her prison, 
consisting of the two rooms on the second floor, as her uncle 
had suggested. 

Some little time elapsed before the Canonico Adalberto was 
able to find a convent in all respects suitable to his views, to 
which Stella might be again consigned. It will be easily un- 
derstood that many points had to be considered in making the 
selection — the nature of the rule, the character of the Superior, 
to a certain degree even that of the sisterhood, the locality, the 
jurisdiction, &c. At length, however, the difficulties arising 
from all these requirements were surmounted, and it was an- 
nounced to Stella, that if she still continued obdurate, she 
would be sent, with a view of shortly commencing her noviti- 
ate, to a convent in the little town of Palazzuolo. The posi- 
tion exactly answered to all the Canon wished, and was select- 
ed with the judicious skill of one fully aware of the powerful 
influence exercised by the imagination over the mind, es- 
pecially of a young girl left in total solitude of the mind and 
heart. It is hardly possible to conceive a more desolate posi- 
tion than that occupied by the little frontier town in question. 
Nobody ever ‘’passes through’’ Palazzuolo. None come there, 
save those very few to whom it is the end and object of their 
journey. All the circumstances of the place and its surround- 
ings are well calculated to work on the imagination of an 
exile among these dreary hills, and impress the victim with 
the hopelessness of her position. 

It was, as has been said, sometime before this favorable spot 
was discovered by the Canon, and eventually it was decided 
that Stella was to be consigned to her new prison on the 1st 
of June. Her uncle did not regret the delay. For, it formed 
no part of the polished Canon’s purpose to descend to violent 
threats or reproaches in his interviews with his niece, and still 
less to endeavor to move her b}’ hypocritically unctuous ap- 
peals to the sanctions of duty and religion. His plan was 
simply to allow the hopelessness of resistance to sink into her 
mind, to convince her by words dropped here and there with 
apparent carelessness, and by taking the matter for granted, 


318 


GIULIO IN FLORENCE ONCE MORE. 


rather than bj violent declarations, that there was not thrs 
smallest possibility that any other alternative was before her 
save obedience or the veil. 

We may be very sure that even if lie had succeeded in 
convincing Stella of this, he would have failed in his object. 
She would have chosen the latter rather than the former alter- 
native. Marriage with the Marchese Alfonso ! Would not 
death itself be preferable ! But Stella had a great comfort and 
support in the declaration of the Abbess, that she could not be 
made a nun without her own acceptance of that fate. She 
had little doubt, however, that she might be doomed to an 
indefinitely prolonged imprisonment ; and, on the whole, it 
must bo admitted that the period of nearly three months which 
Stella had to pass in durance and disgrace, varied only by the 
visits of her Aunt Zenobia and her uncle, the Canon — of 
which it is but justice to the Canon to say that those by the 
ladj’’ were by far the more intolerable infliction — was a trial of 
her constancy and courage by no means less arduous than her 
convent experiences. 


CHAPTER V. 

GIULIO IN FLORENCE ONCE MORE. 

While the dull, slow months were dragging wearily on 
with Stella in her prison in the Palazzo of the Via Larga, and 
bringing her nearer and nearer to the fated first of June, 
which was to be the limit of her sta}^ in Florence, they had 
been passing more rapidly and busily with Giulio. 

Not so the first of them, however. For, during nearly the 
whole of March he had been obliged to await idly in Bologna 
the dail3^-expected death of old Marta Yarani. She lingered 
on from day to day, in contradiction to all the previsions of 
the medical man, for almost a month from the time of the in- 
terview that has been described between her and Giulio. He 
saw her twice in the course of that time, and would have done 
so oftener, had not the strange and unkindl^^-natured old wo- 
man given him very clearly to understand that she preferred 
being left alone. She was not entirely so,’ however j for 


GIULIO IN FLORENCE ONCE MORE. 819 

Giulio by cliance discovered that she was occasionally visited 
by one or two of her old political friends. He had asked her 
at one of these interviews if it would be a comfort to her to 
have her son summoned from Pisa. But she had said that it 
was useless ; — that she should be gone before the letter could 
reach Pisa ; — that she and Pietro had never had much to say 
to each other, and would have less than ever now ! 

“Tell him, when you see him,” she said, “what I bade 
you ; — that my last act was to sacrifice a life-long object be- 
cause I thought that he would wish me to do so. That is all 
that need pass between him and me ! ” 

Giulio, however, had written from Bologna to the Professor, 
telling him the condition in which his mother was, and the 
improbability that he could find her alive, if, despite of what 
she had said, he should attempt to come to her. He told him 
also the strangely mysterious message with which he was 
charged, and all the history of the still more mysterious 
packet. He had received letters from the Professor in return, 
in which he had declared his inability to throw the smallest 
light upon anj’- part of the matter. He knew that his mother 
had once lived in the south of France, and could only guess 
that she might have kept up some correspondence with persons 
there for jDolitical purposes. What bearing this could by any 
possibility have on any part of his friend Malatesta’s affairs or 
interests, he was utterly at a loss to imagine. 

At length the old woman died. The next two months of 
the three which Stella had to pass in listening to the passion- 
ate scolding of her Aunt Zenobia, varied only by the visits, 
and smooth, polished, iron-like impassibility of her uncle, were 
much more active ones for Giulio. 

The contents of the packet, the seal of which, as may be 
easily imagined, he lost no time in breaking as soon as he 
was privileged to do so, did not in any wise tempt him to 
delaj’’ the journey into the south of France which he had been 
enjoined to make. On the contrary, the statement of facts 
which he found therein made him doubly anxious to be on his 
road. When the journey had been prosperously performed, 
and the information obtained which he was sent to seek, 
anxious as he was to make his promised visit to Montepulci- 
ano, he found himself obliged by the circumstances that had 
become known to him to return immediately to Bologna, and 
give his atteiition to certain business there, which occupied 
him for several days. 


320 GIULIO IN FLORENCE ONCE MORE. 

At last, after all these delays, he was able, towards the end 
of May, to hasten to Montepulciano ; — only to learn on his 
arrival there that the Superior of the convent of Ursulines had 
been some weeks previously summoned to Florence. 

Having very little doubt, from the last letters he had had 
from Carlo Brancacci, that Stella had also ere this been re- 
called home, he thought it more prudent to risk no inquiry 
about her, but once again set out with as little delay as 
possible for Florence. 'Idiere his first object was to see Carlo 
Brancacci, which he hoped to do on the morning of his arrival. 
For, having pushed on from Montepulciano in time to reach 
Siena before the diligence from Borne passed through, about 
nightfall, on its northern journey, his plan was, by travelling 
all night, as the diligence in those days did between Siena and 
Florence, to reach the latter city early in the morning. 

Giulio had much in his mind which disposed him not to be 
discontented with any of the things or circumstances around 
him. The precise nature of the facts of which he had recently 
become aware was of such a kind as, despite the hitiierto un- 
successful search after his mother, and despite the difficulties 
which interposed themselves between him and Stella, sent him 
to Florence in a happier and more hopeful state of mind than 
had ever 3"et been his since that memorable first da^" of Lent on 
which he had last quitted it, now three years ago. There lay 
before him much in that beautiful cit}^ towards which he was 
descending that was fraught with anxiet}^ ; but it was a hope- 
ful anxiety, which partook more of the nature of eagerness 
than of fear. 

It was about half-past eight when he passsd through the 
Piazza della Signoria — or the Piazza del Gran-Duca, as it was 
called in those day^s — on his wa^^ towards the Via Larga. He 
thought, as he crossed that centre and heart of Florence, that 
there was a certain air of something more than usual being 
about to happen in the city. There seemed to be more people 
astir than was usually the case, save on a holiday. The da\'- 
of his arrival, the 29th of Maj'-, was not an}'- holiday, that he 
was aware of. There was that indescribable appearance of 
somewhat out of the train of their eveiy-day thoughts and 
occupations being in the minds of the people, which always 
may be observed in an^^ town where some unusual event or 
solemnity is in hand. Giulio was looking round him, as he 
was passing out at that corner of the great square at which the 


^ GIULIO IN FLORENCE ONCE MORE. 821 

Via dei Calzainoli opens, in search of some one of whom ho 
might ask the meaning of this unwonted movement, when 
whom should he see coming towards him across the front of 
the Post-office from the Via Vaccliereccia, at the other corner 
of the Piazza, but Pinaldo Palmieri. 

They both caught sight of each other at the same moment, 
and, running forward, met beneath that beetling brow of the 
old Tetto dei Fisani, — that roof which the Florentines of old 
compelled their Pisan captives to build, and which now shel- 
ters their descendants while they are asking for their letters at 
the post-office. 

“ What, Giulio in Florence ! 

Rinaldo ! What luck to meet you ! 

How long have you been here 

Just arrived, of course! Not an hour ago! Would you 
not have seen me otherwise, my dear fellow ! 

“ Where have you been ? What have you been doing ? 
Where do you come from? What brings you to Florence? 
Of course you have come for to-da 3 % You have done well ! ” 

“ What do you mean ? First, how is your wife ? What 
news of the Professor? ” 

“ All well ! thanks ! The Professor is in Florence. You 
did not think the dear old fellow would miss the day, did 
you ? ” 

“ Miss what day ? I saw there was something in the wind; 
but I have no idea what it is all about ! ’’ 

“ What ! ” cried Rinaldo, looking at him with the most un- 
feigned astonishment, “ you don’t mean it ! You don!t mean 

to say that you don’t know Pooh ! I can’t believe it ! ” 

“Believe what? I have not the least notion of what you 
are talking about ! Remember that I am only half an hour 
old in Florence.” 

“ I took it for granted that you had come on purpose ! 
Why, man alive ! is it not the 29th of Maj’^ ? Have you, of 
all the people in the world, forgotten all about Curtatone? ” 
“No, I had not thought of this day being the anniversary 
of it ! ” 

“ And you reach Florence this morning by mere chance ! ” 

“ And all this stir in the streets is about that ? ” 

“ I should think there was a stir too ! But whither were 
you bound when we met ? ” 

“ To the Via Larga, to find Brancacci. I hope he is in 
Florence ! ” 

20 


822 


GIULTO IN FLORENCE ONCE MORE. 


“Yes! He is here. Bat yoa can’t go to the Via Larga 
now ! There is other work cut out for you this morning ! ” 

“What, the anniversary ? What is to take place ? ” 

“ Ay ! that is the question ! What is to take place ? ” re- 
turned Einaldo, changing his tone to one of concentrated 
earnestness. “ That is what we shall see, Giulio mio ! You 
must come with me now to Santa Croce. Finding Brancacci, 
or any other business, let it be what it may, must come after 
that. Come along ! I will tell you. how things are as we go. 
We shall find Francesca and the Professor there.” 

So, hooking his arm within that of Giulio, he led him off 
in the direction of the church of Santa Croce, towards which, 
as they neared that part of the city, it became evident that 
the tide of people was strongly setting. For more than one 
feeling was leading the Florentines on this, the third anni- 
versary of the battles of Curtatone and Montan ara, to the 
church, in which the names of those who fell on that day had 
been commemorated. 

The hopes of Italj’’ had sadly fallen since that time. The 
Carnival was over. The high and serene masquers had pulled 
off their Phrygian caps, and other such disguisements ; and 
having thus changed their mood, insisted that their peoples 
should follow their lead, forget their mumming and fall back 
into the old ruts and tramways. An Austrian garrison was in 
occupation of Florence, at the invitation of that Grand-Duke 
who had sent out the Tuscan volunteers to fight against the 
Austrians in Lombardy three short years ago I Onl}’- three 
short years ! The Grand-Duke had in that time seen the 
error of his ways during that short period of carnival madness. 
His repentance was sincere ; and Austria had forgiven him. 
He did not like to be reminded of the follies of which he had 
repented. Nobody does like it. If the Tuscan lads, who had 
left their lives on the battle-fields of Lombard}’-, had taken the 
liberalising mood of their paternal sovereign so much in 
earnest, so much the worse for them. In any case, all that 
chapter of incidents had better be forgotten now. It is in ill 
taste, unfashionable, and very displeasing to paternal rulers, 
to say or do anything that can recall the memory of all that 
already buried and forgotten past. 

The fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, and beloved ones of 
the youths, who had left their young lives on those not-to-be- 
mentioned battle-fields, did not feel quite in unison with the 


GIULIC) IN FLORENCE ONCE MORE. 


823 


convUy tone of sentiment on this subject. Immediately after 
that sad but glorious campaign, before Curtatone and INIontan- 
ara were tabooed names in Florence, a couple of bronze tablets, 
recording the names and ages of the slain in those two battles, 
had been put up in Santa Croce ; — the Tuscan Westminster 
Abbey. On the anniversary of the battle, the families and 
friends of those lost ones had caused a requiem to be celebrated 
in memory of them, and of their deeds, and had brought chap- 
lets and flowers to la}?" before the bronze record, as a testimony 
that the meniory of the dead was yet green in the hearts of 
those who had loved them. 

In 1849, this commemoration of what it would fain forget, 
■was distasteful to the parental government. In 1850, it was yet 
more offensive. And now, in 1851, these uncourtly mourners, 
with their inopportune reminiscences, were purposing to repeat 
the offence ! Totally regardless of the feelings of their Grand- 
Duke, surrounded by a circle of Austrian marshals and gen- 
erals, yet at the same time compelled to endure under his nose 
the commemoration of those whom he had sent out to fight 
against those marshals and generals, they persisted in refusing 
to forget ! Incapable as they were of any courtly delicacy of 
feeling, these burgher mourners even went to the length of 
sending an invitation to the Austrian commander-in-chief to 
be present at their celebration. He, being more soldier than 
courtier, as it would seem, wrote back to say that, though 
prevented by political considerations from attending the cere- 
mony in question, he should be with them in heart, and was 
glad to have the opportunity of expressing the high respect 
and admiration which every soldier must feel for the gallant 
youths who had shown themselves such worthy foemen. 

Thus it came to pass, that now on that beautiful May morn- 
ing, the question was, as Kinaldo had said to Giulio, “ what 
would take place?’’ Would the government venture on shut- 
ting up the church ? Would it content itself with ordering 
the priest to celebrate no service ? Would it abstain from any 
interference, and bear its mortification in silence, as best it 
might ? 

So Florence was astir, and uneasy with expectation and 
doubt. The patriots of 1848, those who had lost relatives on 
that daj’’ in the first line, were thronging towards the church ; 
the few partisans of the Court were biting their nails in sulky 
and uneasy groups at street corners, the merely curious crowd 


324 


GIULIO IN FLORENCE ONCE MORE. 


of quidnuncs was hovering about the squares in timid doubt, 
and the Austrian officers were clanking their swords up and 
down the pavement, very indifferent to all that the children 
they were sent to keep in order were making such a fuss 
about, but ready to compel them to be orderlj^ by a very rough 
and read}’^ process, in case their quarrelling should go to the 
extent of a breach of the peace. 

All this state of things Kinaldo explained rapidly to Giulio 
as they were walking to the Piazza di Santa Croce ; to the 
exceeding indignation of the latter. His impression, however, 
was that the government would take no step to prevent the 
commemoration. 

“ They cannot do it, caro mio ! It is impossible. That 
move of inviting the Austrian commandant was admirably 
thought of. He must be a fellow with a soldier’s heart in him. 
The style of his answer must make it impossible for them to 
interfere.” 

“ I trust it may be so ! We shall soon see ! I have not 
asked you anything about jmurself yet.” 

“ I have so much to tell, that there is no time for it now ! 
It must keep till after the ceremony. You shall then come 
with me to look for Brancacci. I have some things to tell 
you that will make you stare. I am in Fortune’s good books 
at last, for a wonder, it would seem ! ” 

“ Per Pacco ! I have considered you so for some time past. 
Signor Giulio, on more counts than one ! You can’t have it 
all your own way, and all at once, you know ! But I want to 
hear your new good news. Can’t you out with it at once ? ” 
No, by no means ! there is far too much of it ! And I 
want to aUend to the business in hand now. Bj’’ Jove ! what 
a crowd!” he exclaimed, as at that moment they came out 
from one of the narrow streets into the Piazza of Santa Croce. 
“ The Florentines are doing us Curtatone boj^s the honor of 
making a great affair of our anniversary. Why, half tlie 
town is on foot ! ” 

In fact, the whole of the large piazza before the western 
front of the venerable church seemed to be full of people. A 
Florentine crowd is always quiet and orderlj^; but on the 
present occasion they appeared to be even more so than usual ; 
for a certain air of hushed quietude and almost of depression 
seemed to weigh upon the multitude, which indicated very 
sensibly that the great majority of those present were under 


GIULIO IN FLORENCE ONCE MORE. 


825 


the influence of the spirit of the occasion which called them 
together. Very many ■were in mourning garments. A still 
greater number bore about them some token of mourning in 
some part of their dress. There was an unusually large pro- 
portion of women among those assembled ; and here and there 
among the crowd might be observed individuals, mostly 
women, with chaplets of evergreens or of flowers in their 
hands. The grand old church — grand rather from the noble 
associations and reminiscences connected with it, than from any 
real architectural grandeur, save that of vast size — did not then 
possess the handsome marble fa9ade which now, with perhaps 
somewhat too garish a smartness, decks the time-honored 
building. 

The whole of one end of the oblong space is occupied by 
this wide front of the great church — wider than even that of 
the duomo. The three huge doors in it, which were all open, 
and through all of which the multitude was streaming into 
the enormous interior of the church, seemed to swallow up the 
thousands into the cavernous gloom within, while no apprecia- 
ble progress was being made' towards filling it. 

“ The church is open, at all events ! ” said Giulio, as the two 
young men made their way up the middle of to- 

wards the great door. “ I think you will find that the govern- 
ment have no intention of meddbng with you.” 

“ I really begin to hope so too,” returned Kinaldo. I see 
no signs of either soldiers or police. In truth, when one 
comes to consider the thing in its entirety, it does seem almost 
too outrageous that any government on earth should seek to 
prevent the relatives and friends of those who have fallen in 
its service from commemorating them ! ” 

It does so, indeed. Where are you to find the Pro- 
fessor ? ” 

He, and my wife with him, were to be at the entrance of 
the cloister on the right-hand side of the church front. They 
w'ill be there by this time.” 

In fact, in front of the cloister door, the two friends, when 
they had pushed a little farther through the crowd in that 
direction, descried the Professor and his sister waiting, and 
anxiously watching the aspect of the rapidly-thickening 
crowd. Francesca had a large and elaborate garland, of bay 
mingled with white roses, hanging on her arm, an intended 
tribute to the memory of Enrico, whose name on the bronze 


326 


GIULIO IN FLORENCE ONCE MORE. 


tablets indicated him as having been the youngest of the 
youthful band of martyrs at Curtatone and Montanara. 

Had Giulio seen Francesca alone, as she stood there with 
the wreath in her hand, he would probably have failed to re- 
cognise her, so wholly different was the figure of the Floren- 
tine sposa from that of the volunteer from whom he had parted 
at Curtatone. It is true that he had known her first, and for 
a longer time, in the proper habiliments of her sex at Pisa. 
But the few short months of the Lombard campaign had 
been filled with events of a kind that leaves so deep a mark in 
the memory, and the impressions of that memorable time so 
effectually obliterated those of the days before it, that for 
Giulio the idea of the Professor’s sister was that of a hand- 
some volunteer soldier, rather than of the pretty girl of the 
lone house in the fields of Pisa. Francesca, moreover, was no 
longer the same in appearance as she had been. Marriage 
makes a notable and subtle difference in the maniere d'Hve 
of a woman in everj' part of the world, but nowhere more so 
than in Italy, where the change from the chrj^salis state of 
girlhood to the full-fledged dignity of matronhood — the right 
to the complimentarily-used title of sposa — is a very marked 
one. 

Francesca, however, would have instantly recognised Mala- 
testa, even if he had not been with her husband. Not that 
the three years which had passed since they had seen each 
other had made no difference in him. Far from it. The 
bearing of the captain of Lancers in the service of his Majes- 
ty the King of Sardinia w^as sufficiently different from that of 
the volunteer student. But in costume Giulio looked much 
the same as she had known him in old days at Pisa. For it 
must not be imagined that he was travelling either in the 
Papal dominions or in those of the Grand-Duke of Tuscany in 
the uniform of the Piedmontese service. That, in the change 
which had come over the dream of Italy since 1848, would 
have been quite out of the question. 

So Francesca, sharply nudging the Professor’s elbow to call 
home his wits, which were roaming among the throng as it 
w^as streaming past them into the church, stepped forward to 
meet Pinaldo and his companion as they came up. 

Yes ! you maj" well jump!” said her husband. ‘‘There 
w^as nothing else at the post! But there I found this gentle- 
man, for all the world as if he had arrived, addressed, ‘ To be 


GIULIO IN FLORENCE ONCE MORE. 


327 


left till called for ; this side uppermost ! ’ Think of his hav- 
ing come to Florence this morning — this morning, of all the 
mornings in the year; — and he of all men in the world — in 
total oblivion and unconsciousness of what day it is, and ask- 
ing innocentl}^ what all the movement in the streets is about! 
Fare impossible ! ” 

“ The case is not quite so bad as he makes it out. Signora 
Francesca,” said Giulio, laughing, and cordially shaking hands 
first with her and then with the Professor; “ I have not for- 
gotten Curtatone, friends, nor has Italy ! Per Dio, No ! and 
so these gentry will find out one of these days,” nodding, as 
he spoke, at a couple of white-coated Austrian soldiers who 
strolled lazil}’- past them, gazing wonderingly and amusedly at 
the crowd. “ No ! my forgetfulness was limited to the fact 
that to-day was the — for us, dear friends — ever sacred 29th of 
May. You see, I have been scouring the country in all di- 
rections on business of ni}^ own, and with better good fortuxie 
than I deserve, come in for to-day’s celebration.” 

No ! I do not think that you will be one of the first to for- 
get the Curtatone, Signor Capitano ! ” said Francesca, glanc- 
ing up with a quiver on her lip and a meaning look into Mala- 
testa’s face. “ For one day,” she added, with a sad smile, 

jmu must be Signor Caporale once again I Ah ! how all the 
incidents of that day come back to me in talking to you. Sig- 
nor Giulio ! ” she continued, pressing her hands over her 
eyes as she spoke. 

Malatesta answered her only by putting out his hand, and . 
a second time exchanging a friendl}" grasp. 

“ I was thankful to you. Signor Giulio, for your letters from 
Bologna,” said the Professor ; ‘‘ it was a comfort to me to 
know that you were there. 

^‘We shall have much to talk over together, dear old 
friend 1” answered Giulio. ‘‘ T owe you and La Signora Va- 
rani more than you think for.” 

You will return with us after the ceremony in the church, 
will 3 ’ou not. Signor Capitano ? ” said Francesca ; “ we have 
all so much to say to each other ! You know, of course, that 
La Contessina is in Florence ? ” she added, in an undertone, 
with a quick look up into his face. 

He answered her by a silent nod, while Pinaldo said : 

“ Of course you will return with us. Signor Giulio. My 
mother will be so glad to see you. She lias not forgotten, 


828 


GIULIO IN FLORENCE ONCE MORE. 


poor soul, that she owed it to you that she had one son’s life 
to give for Italy.” 

“ Of course 1 should have hurried to the house I remember 
so well, even if I had not fallen in with you all so fortunately. 
I looked up at it as I passed in the diligence this morning; 
and I will come in in the course of the afternoon. But my 
first business after the ceremony must be to find out Bran- 
cacci, as I was on my way to do when I met Binaldo.” 

You have not told us j^et even, whence you now come,” 
said Binaldo. “ You passed before my mother’s window 
coming in through the Porta Bomana? Then you are not now 
from Bologna ? ” 

“ No ! I came last from Montepulciano. But, as I said, I 
must keep my story till after the ceremony, for it is a long 
one,” replied Malatesta. 

“ At least tell us in one word whether you have succeeded 
in your search?” asked the Professor. “We know that 
your journey to Montepulciano must have been a fruitless 
one.” 

“ Yes ; alas ! my trip to Montepulciano has availed me 
nothing. I have not been successful in m}'’ search as yet. I 
have found what I was not looking for, and little dreamed of 
finding,” replied Malatesta, looking round from one to the 
other of his three friends. But positively,” he added, laugh- 
ing, “jmu shall not tempt me to open my budget of news till 
I have time to empty it comfortably ! Is it not time for us to 
go into the church ? The crowds are all pouring in ! ” 

“ Yes ! come ! let us go in ! ” said Binaldo. “ It must be 
nearly the hour for the beginning of the service. And, per 
Banco ! the old church must be nearly full by this time ! ” 

Nevertheless, it was not the case that all the crowd had 
entered the church, though a continuous stream had been 
passing in while the above conversation had been going on. 
Por as the four friends went up the steps of the church, to 
reach the door of the southern side-aisle, they looked back on 
the large piazza, and saw that it still seemed nearly full of 
people. Most of these, however, were no doubt only idlers, 
drawn thither by curiosity to see whether the government 
would, as had been thought likely, interfere in any way to stop 
the celebration of the anniversary. Those more really in- 
terested in it, were no doubt prettj^ well all by this time in 
the church. When the little party, who had not before been 


THE REQUIEM IN SANTA CROCE. 829 


together since the day they had separated on the field of 
Curtatone; passed into the vast building, it seemed closely 
filled. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE REQUIEM IN SANTA CROCE. 

The Florentine people for many generations have held the 
church of Santa Croce in especial affection ; — affection rather 
than veneration. Florence is not, and never was, a very reli- 
gious city. The church of Santa Croce makes no especial claim 
to any exceptional sanctitj^ It possesses none of the extra 
holy articles or reminiscences, which constitute the reputation 
and the wealth of so many other fanes of far less celebrity. 

The sentiment with which the Florentine regards Santa 
Croce, is a civil rather than a religious sentiment. It is, as it 
has often been called, the Westminster Abbey of Florence. 

There is little or nothing of the material beauty, which 
Westminster Abbey possesses in so eminent a degree, at Santa 
Croce. No other sentiment competes in the mind of him, who 
passes from the external southern sunshine into the cavern- 
like gloom of its huge nave, with that of reverence for the 
mighty dead around. There are a few rich painted windows 
in the chancel and transepts, there are a few — a very few — 
fragments of mediseval art; but, on the whole, the church of 
Santa Croce is very singularly poor in aught of beautiful or 
of artistic interest. The monumental sculpture is almost all 
below criticism. The naked rafters of the wholly unorna- 
mented roof give a barn-like appearance to the entire edifice. 
There is, in truth, no element of beauty or grandeur, save vast 
size. Yet even the stranger from the northern side of the 
Alps walks the inscribed flagstones of Santa Croce with bated 
breath, and a consciousness of awed reverence, wdiich he has 
rarely before experienced. The spell of mighty names is on 
him ; and the air he is breathing seems laden with the most 
jirecious and imperishable memories of the past. 

If such be the impression made upon a stranger, it will be 
readil}' understood that it is difficult to exaggerate the feeling 
with wdiich the Florentines regard Santa Croce. 


330 


THE REQUIEM IN SANTE CROCE. 


Almost the whole of the great length of the church is occu- 
pied by the enormous nave and side-aisles. The transept is 
large ; but it crosses the nave quite at the eastern end of it, 
leaving the choir and chancel disproportionately small and 
insignificant. The division of the building specially belong- 
ing to and aftected to the uses of the clergy is very small, and 
that apportioned to the people disproportionately large. On 
either side of the chancel are other chapels opening off the 
transept almost as large as the chancel itself. At the extremi- 
ty of the southern transept there is a chapel on a raised floor, 
reached by flights of steps, the space beneath which is occu- 
pied by a lumber-room or workshop approached from the exte- 
rior of the church. At the extremity of the northern transept 
is a communication with the sacristy and with the cloisters, 
and the conventual buildings attached to the church. There 
is also a large chapel on the western side of either transept 
opening otf it; and at the point where the nave joins the tran- 
sept, the pavement is raised to the extent of one or two shal- 
low steps, so that the whole floor of the latter part of the 
church is a little higher than that of the former. 

The bronze tablets recording the names and ages of those 
who fell at Curtatone and Montanara, which have been already 
mentioned, are affixed to the eastern wall of the southern tran- 
sept, between the entrance to the chancel, and the opening of 
one of the chapels on the south side of it. 

The immense nave and side-aisles of the church were very 
full, when the little party, whose conversation has been 
recorded in the last chapter, entered it. A Tuscan crowd, 
however closely packed, is ahvays not only orderly, but singu- 
larly good tempered and courteous. 

It was not difficult, therefore, for Francesca and the three 
gentlemen with her, to make their way up the length of the 
nave into the transept. The bay-w^reath carried by the former, 
moreover, sufficiently indicated to everybodj^ in the crowd that 
she and her friends w^ere among those more especially inter- 
ested in the commemoration about to be celebrated, and that 
they had a function to perform at the upper end of the build- 
ing. The majority of the crowd at the lowmr, or western end 
of the church, were naturally mere lookers-on, though almost 
all more or less wuirmly sympathisers in the business of the 
daj^; and the}'- made w-ay, not without a feeling and looks of 
mournful sympathy with the little group. 


THE REQUIEM IN SANTA CROCE. 831 

In the large open space of the transej)t in front of the wall 
on which the tablets were affixed, the crowd that had collected 
before them was composed almost wholly of those who had a 
special interest in the anniversary of a similar nature to that 
of Professor Varani and his part3^ There were fathers and 
mothers who had sent forth sons for the cause of Italy, who 
had come back no more. There were girls whose lives had 
been desolated and left empty by the untimely death of those 
for whose loss they could not be comforted. But the names 
of the beloved ones were there among the heroes on the roll of 
those whom Italy would remember as the proto-martyrs of her 
new liberty ! There was not a mourner there whose right to 
point evermore — he and his children after him — to the name 
of one among those who fought and fell at Curtatone, as one of 
their own, was not envied ! 

There did not appear to be any agents of the authorities in 
the church, either soldiers or police force. It seemed as if the 
paternal government had decided on allowing the people to 
mourn their dead, and say their prayer in peace. But a sort 
of curtain of coarse sailcloth had been hung up before the 
bronze tablets, so as to hide them entirely from the i:)eople. 
Whether the authorities of the government had imagined that 
by thus hiding the object of the people’s reverence and regard 
from their eyes, they would succeed in preventing all commem- 
oration of the day ; or whether, as is most likely, the inten- 
tion was merely to irritate the people into some act which 
should form an excuse for violent interference on the part of 
the police, is uncertain. But if the object of the government 
was to arouse a velmment feeling of indignation among the 
Plorentines, that object was most fully attained. 

A great many wreaths, some of evergreens, some of flowers, 
had, nevertheless, been brought and reverentl}’’ laid on the 
broad pavement beneath the tablets; and the bringers of 
them were kneeling in praj^er in considerable numbers ; and 
tlie outside crowd of those who stood around was hushed in 
s^mipathy with the mourners, when a sound of voices raised in 
anger was heard from the outskirts of the crowd around those 
who were kneeling before the bronze tablets, and in a moment 
or two afterwards the report of a pistol re-echoed through the 
building. At the same moment, the cause of the disturbance 
was evident to those whose eyes had been turned towards the 
veiled tablets. Some daring hand, obeying the impulse of a 


832 


THE REQUIEM IN SANTA CROCE. 


heart that had been stirred by the dastardly outrage to greater 
anger than it could control, had suddenly and violently torn 
down the curtain, and given the venerated tablets with the 
honored names inscribed on them to the eager eyes of the 
i:)eople. Of course, an immense movement of the crowd and 
violent confusion were the immediate consequences. The vast 
church was filled first with articulate cries and loud unan- 
swered queries ; and then, with inarticulate shrieks of fright- 
ened women. As usual, in such cases, it was impossible to 
ascertain, at the time or afterwards, who had fired the pistol ; 
though it is probable that the fact was well known to the gov- 
ernment agents. For it could hardly have been fired by any 
one of the people otherwise than at some individual of the 
public force. Now', no one of that body was killed in the 
church ; and if any one had been fired on and not killed, ho 
W'ould have reported the fact. 

Francesca started up from her knees and pressed close to 
the side of her husband, who had been standing immediately 
behind her. Her heroism seemed all to have vanished with 
her military trappings, or with the inspiration of the cause 
wdiich had induced her to assume them ; for she turned pale, 
and trembled as her husband threw his arm around her. 

‘‘It is coming, then!’’ Kinaldo said, with a cool, concen- 
trated indignation; “I thought as much ! The vile WTetches 
cannot leave us in peace with our dead ! ” 

“ Let us get out of the church if we can ! ” said Francesca ; 
“see, the crowd is all in movement, and the priests have 
ceased the service.” 

“ Nay, let us remain, and see what comes,” said the Pro- 
fessor ; “ we have broken no law, not even any order of the 
police. Let us remain quiet ! Do Uot let us increase the con- 
fusion and the rush by attempting to leave the church. We 
cannot be punished for quietly praying here ! ” 

“ But w'hat do you suppose that it is ? ” asked Giulio ; 
“ wdiat is happening, or going to happen ? ” 

“ The agents of the police, seeing that the people gave them 
no cause for interfering, are purposely giving rise to disturb- 
ance ; insulting some men— some women, more likely — till they 
succeed in provoking a show of resistance ; then making 
arrests, and ordering the clearing of the church. Oh ! I know 
the ways of them ! ” 

“ Then the quieter we are, the more we shall puzzle tii^m I ^ 


THE REQUIEM IN SANTA CROCE. 


833 


said the Professor ; “ I vote for quietly remaining where we 
are ! ” 

A good many of those who had been gathered in the tran- 
sept in front of the tablets seemed inclined to adopt the Pro- 
fessor’s tactics. But the great bulk of the crowd were pressing 
down the nave tumultuously towards the great western doors, 
anxious only to leave the church. Prom the slightly elevated 
vantage ground of the transept, those who remained there 
could look downi on the sea of heads pressing forwards in ter- 
ror and disorder down the nave of the church. The police 
bad no longer any difficulty in declaring that “disturbance’^ 
had taken place. There was disturbance enough ! But the 
police had knowingly and intentionally caused it. 

Suddenly, in the midst of the tumultuous rush of the ter- 
rified and excited crowd towards the door, while each man was 
asking his neighbor what the matter was, and nine-tenths of 
the surging mass of people could give no reasonable reply to 
the question — amid the shrieking of the women which filled 
the enormous and solemn spaces of the church with strange 
and unseemly echoes, a sound still more strange and unseemly 
in that place was heard ; and the suspicions expressed b}^ Bi- 
naldo, that the government would be found to have taken 
means to interfere with the peaceful commemoration of the 
anniversary, were but too fully verified. 

Not having dared, under the circumstances of the case, to 
take the strong and unprecedented measure of forbidding the 
survivors to celebrate a requiem in memorj’- of their lost rela- 
tives, the Grand-Ducal authorities had determined to interrupt 
the peaceful ceremony. The sound, which, strange and revolt- 
inglj^ startling as it w^as in such a place, was well known 
enough to every ear in the crowd to be at once understood and 
interpreted aright, was the tramp of a body of soldiers, enter- 
ing the church from the end of the northern transept. 

It has been explained, that the communication between the 
church and the convent, and the cloisters and sacristies, opens 
into the former at that point. It became evident, therefore, 
that it had been the predetermined intention of the govern- 
ment to interrupt the funeral service, for the troops must have 
been placed in the convent over-night, since assuredly none 
had been introduced into it in the course of the morning. 
The priests (monks of the adjoining monastery) must have 
been aware of what was about to take place. But to all else 
in that crowded congregation the surprise was complete. 


334 THE REQUIEM IN SANTA CROCE. 

Tramp, tramp, tramp, they came, one file after another, 
through tlie sacristy door, till a great part of the transept was 
filled with soldiers. The priests, at the first interruption of 
the service, had of course vanished into their sacristy, or into 
the chancel hidden behind the high altar. Two bodies of sol- 
diers were marched into the church, each under the command 
of its own officer — one of Grand-Ducal, and one of Austrian 
troops. The difference in the subsequent conduct of these two 
bodies was verj^ remarkable; and it is painful to be obliged 
to record that this difference was all to the advantage of the 
Austrian ! 

Tramp ! tramp ! the automaton-like personification of brute 
force came on ; and the men, at successive words of command, 
which rung out hideousl}’" beneath the rafters of that roof — 
filing across the whole breadth of the church, formed in a 
double line along the top of the steps ascending from the nave 
and side-aisles to the transept, thus cutting off the multitude 
who were thronging towards the western doors from those who 
had remained in the neighborhood of the spot where the tab- 
lets were affixed. 

As soon as the men had been thus formed, they began to 
advance down the nave and side-aisles, driving and forcing the 
retiring crowd before them, which was escaping into the piaxza 
as fast as the capacity of the three great doors, and the eager- 
ness of the alarmed people, would permit them to do so. 
Meantime the police force in uniform, and in plain clothes, 
were busy making numerous arrests among those who had 
remained in the rear of the soldiers. 

In a very few minutes the nave was entirely cleared ; and 
the troops following the people out through the western door.s, 
again took up a position on the steps before the west front of 
the church, thus commanding from an elevation of some six 
or eight feet the large space of the Piazza Santa Croce. 

In the next minute a discharge of fire-arms was heard by 
those who had remained at the upper end of the church ! 

“ Good Heavens ! they are firing on the people ! exclaim- 
ed Einaldo. “ Is it possible ! 

“ Firing over their heads to disperse the crowd, most 
likely ! ” said Giulio. 

“ If they are killing our brothers, we should be with them,’' 
cried the Professor, making, as he spoke, one huge ungainly 
stride in the direction of the nave. We are the guilty 


THE REQUIEM IN SANTA CROCE. 


335 


ones,” he continued, ^‘for we were of those who rebelled 
against our dear friends here in the white coats at Curta- 
tone ! ” 

But Francesca sprung after him, and, clinging to his arm, 
cried, “ No ! no ! you said it was best to remain here ! What 
good can you do? You cannot leave me here ! ” 

“ Possibly the people, outraged beyond all bearing, have 
broken out into resistance ! ” said Giulio, who had been atten- 
tively listening to the sound which reached the spot where 
they were at the farther end of the long church. “ I hear a 
few dropping musket-shots among the roar of voices ; but 
they have not fired a second volley. I shall go ! I must see 
what is going on ! ” 

As he spoke, a couple of slirri stepped up on each side of 
him, and made signs to one of the armed police to take him 
in charge. 

“ Never mind ! ” he cried to his friends, as he was hurried 
off, “ they can’t hurt me ! Only take care that some one of 
you come to see me. I must speak with you ! ” 

There is a side-door in the southern wall of the church, a 
little below the transept, opening into the Via dei Malconten- 
ti, and the police agents were hurrying away the persons they 
had arrested through this exit. Many arrests were made. 
Indeed, all those who had remained in the rear of the soldiers 
might have been arrested if the police agents had thought fit 
to do so. But they probably considered that too large a bag 
of game might be embarrassing to their masters, and con- 
tented themselves with driving the greater number of the peo- 
ple out of the church through the same door by which they 
carried off their captures. 

Malatesta was one of the last arrested ; and Francesca and ‘ 
her husband and brother found themselves free in the compar- 
atively quiet Via dei Malcon tenth 

Meantime, what had happened on the western steps of the 
church and on the piazza was simply this. As soon as the 
soldiers had been formed in line on the top of the steps, and 
while the excited crow'd were massed in the open space before 
and below them, the Italian soldiers fired a volley into the 
then harmless crowd. Then harmless, I say, because it i^ 
true, that in the mUee and confusion in the church, while the 
crowd w^as rushing towards the great doors, some of the police 
agents who were mixed up with the crowd were roughly 


836 


THE REQUIEM IN SANTE CROCE. 




handled. A few of them had to go into hospital, and were 
treated by the medical men for contusions about the head, and 
bruises. There were no knife wounds, and no pistol-shot 
wound. 

Whether the Italian officer who gave his men the order to 
fire on an unarmed and unresisting crowd of men, women, 
and children, did so in obedience to previous orders, or in the 
exercise of his own discretion, was not known. It is, however, 
certain that the Grand-Ducal government approved the act, 
when it had been done ; for no inquiry was instituted, and no 
slightest censure passed on the officer who had done the deed. 

The Austrian soldiers stood by the side of the Italian sol- 
diers on the steps of the church. But while the latter were 
firing at their fellow-countrymen, the Austrian troops stood 
motionless ! 

Thus was consummated one of those deeds which live in the 
memory of a people long after much bad government of far 
more widely influential evil tendency has been forgotten. 
Bor man}’- a year yet, even though the deed has received its 
punishment, and the author of it has it not in his power to do 
further evil, the black day of Santa Croce will be remembered 
in Tuscany. It was vividly remembered on the memorable 
27th of April, 1859, and contributed its part towards the pass- 
ing of the irreversible decree, which on that day deposed a 
dynasty. 

For the time, however, the Grand-Ducal government had 
its triumph and gained its object. The offending bronze tab- 
lets were removed that very night from the wall ! It seems 
hardly credible that a sovereign should have been guilty of 
ingratitude so base, and meanness so contemptible. It was so, 
however. The tablets, recording the names of those who had 
fallen in an expedition sent forth to fight for their country by 
the sovereign who was so anxious to forget the fact, were re- 
moved, lest they should give offence to the brave enemy, who 
felt a soldier-like admiration for the foe which had opposed 
him. They were taken down from their place on the sacred 
wall, and the Tuscans were bidden to forget all about those 
untoward events at Curtatone and Montanara. 

But the Tuscans did not forget them. And when the Grand- 
Duke was taken down from his place, the tablets were hunted 
out from the lumber-cellar in the fortress into which they had 
been thrown, and were restored to the spot, where they may 
now once again be seen. 


THE REQUIEM IN SANTA CROCE. 


337 


The first care of Rinaldo and his wife and the Professor, 
as soon as they found themselves free in the Via dei Malcon- 
tenti, w^as to hurry homewards to the house bj’- the Porto Po- 
mana, for the purpose of reassuring the poor old mother left at 
home, who had in so many ways already felt the smart of the 
political ills of her country. The entire city was, of course, 
greatly agitated by the events which had taken place ; and the 
W'ildest rumors, as to the number of the slain and wounded, 
were flying about the town. To make the best of their way 
homewards, however, it was desirable to avoid the Piazza 
Santa Croce, which, under ordinary circumstances, would have 
been the shortest way. For the troops, though no firing had 
taken place since the beginning of the disturbance, were still 
there under arms ; and in the lower part of the piazza^ and 
the small streets opening on to it, there were still considerable 
masses of the population, and a great agitation prevailed ; ’and 
there seemed reason to doubt whether the atrocity of the pro- 
vocation might not yet prove to be too much even for the 
quiet and unresisting habits of a Tuscan population, and lead 
to ulterior and more serious disturbances. But there was a 
crushing force of Austrian troops in the city, and any attempt 
at insurrection would have been madness. Slowly, therefore, 
and with deep but muttered imprecations on their government, 
the people by degrees retired to their homes, and “ order 
reigned in Florence.^’ 

Binaldo and his wife and brother-in-law, turning their backs 
on the piazza^ and following the Via dei Malcontenti to its 
farther end at the city wall, passed thence by the remote and 
quiet Via della Torricelle to the Lung’ Arno, and so crossing 
the Ponte alle Grazie, gained the Oltr’ Arno quarter of the 
city, and reached the Porta Bomana in safety. 

Hardly a word was exchanged between them till they came 
to the walls at the extremity of the Via dei Malcontenti. By 
that time the noise of voices and the tramping of troops had 
died away behind them, and the remote part of the city which 
they had reached was as quiet as if nothing out of the ordi- 
nary course of the usual rather sleepy Florentine life had been 
taking place within the walls. 

“ A nice sort of welcome Florence has given to our friend 
Giulio on his arrival,” said Binaldo, as they stopped to listen, 
standing in the road under the grey old wall. “ To think of 
21 


338 THE REQUIEM IN SANTE CROCE. 

his coming here by mere chance this morning to tumble into 
such a business ! ” 

‘‘ It is well at all events, that it was he rather than either 
of you two that the police laid hands on/^ said Francesca; 
“ not,” she added, ‘Hhat I think little of any evil to Giulio — 
on the contrary; but, as he said, they cannot hurt him; and 
it would have been a very different affair if either of you had 
fallen into their clutches.” 

Oh, no ! they’ll let him out fast enough when they find 
out who and what he is,” said the Professor ; “ nevertheless, 
I am sorry he was taken. I was very anxious to have a talk 
with him.” 

“lam glad they have taken him!” cried Kinaldo ; “the 
miserable vermin will find themselves in the wrong box, arrest- 
ing an officer in the Piedmontese service, and no reason to give 
for it I Perhaps it may lead to something ! ” 

“Do not forget what he said about going to see him,” said 
Francesca; “you must go to-morrow morning without fail, 
Pinaldo ; — or perhaps you had better go, Pietro mio, as you 
say you want to speak to him. Or why not both of you go 
together ? ” 

“ You are settling it all very much at your ease, cara mia / ” 
returned Ilinaldo. “ I wonder where you learned 3mur ideas 
of imprisonment for political causes? Not at Bologna, in 
Pope’s-land, I should think. Giulio will be in the state-prison 
in an hour from this ; and how, I should like to know, can 
either the Professor or I get leave to see him ? ” 

“ You don’t mean to say that he will be kept in solitary 
confinement?” said Francesca, aghast. 

“ Che ! che ! It is only a preventive arrest ! ” said the 
Professor. 

“No! they won’t think of refusing to let him see any- 
bodv,” rejoined Rinaldo ; “ but leave must be asked. I ques- 
tion very much if either I or Pietro — old Curtatone men — 
would get leave. It would be wiser not to ask it. No ! I’ll 
tell you what I am thinking. Giulio told me that his first 
business in Florence was to see his old friend Carlo Brancacci. 
Now, Brancacci, though a good fellow enough, is in with lots 
of the court party. His uncle is a chamberlain. Brancacci 
would have no difficult}^ in getting an order to see him. His 
asking for it would be likely to do him as much good as our 
asking for it would do harm.” 


UNCLE AND NEPHEW. 339 

You are right, Kinaldo ! That will he the plan ! said 
Francesca. 

“ I’ll tr}’’ and find Brancacci this afternoon. He will get 
the order the first thing in the morning, and be with him be- 
fore noon.” 

Binaldo having succeeded in the course of the afternoon, in 
finding the comfortable and jovial Carlo discussing the affair 
of the morning among a knot of gossips at the door of Donej^’s 
cafe, and having further succeeded in drawing him on one side, 
and communicating his tidings to him, to Carlo’s infinite as- 
tonishment, that laughing philosopher, but firm friend, was 
with the prisoner by noon the following day, as Binaldo had 
said. 


book; 

THE MAKCHESE MALATESTA. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE MARCHESE FLORIMOND AND CARLO BRANCA'CCI. 

In the early months of 1848, when sovereigns, lay and ec- 
clesiastic, were tossing their crowns and tiaras into the air, 
and crying ‘‘ Hurrah for Italy ! ” liberalism was the fashion, 
and everj^body was an out-and-out liberal, except the few 
whom honest and strong conviction, or equally strong interest, 
enlisted on what then appeared the losing side. When all that 
was changed, when the sovereigns declared that all they had 
been sajnng and doing was an error or a jest, and that it was 
now time to give over fooling, and return to work and sober 
sense, of course the prevailing political fashion changed too. 
Liberty caps were no longer the only wear ! Good society, 
with surprising readiness, put on caps of quite another form, 
had a new set of phrases on the tip of its tongue, forgot all 
that court manners required it to forget, and swam as buoy- 
antly in one direction as it had in the contrary one before the 


840 


UNCLE AND NEPHEW. 


tide turned. After Novara all tlie world was dj^nastic, except 
those (they were not so few as the previous minority had been) 
who were liberals and progressists from real conviction and 
true patriotism. 

Of course this rapid right-about evolution required greater 
agility, and was more conspicuous in those who had been run- 
ning strongest in the contraiy direction. There was, however, 
a large class of people in whom a certain change of tone could 
be observed, if you marked them closely, but in whom it was 
very slight; people with whom the tide did not run strongly 
in either direction ; somo in whom scarcely any tidal move- 
ment could have been detected when the tide was flowing, 
and in whom, therefore, proportionably little change could be 
observed when it ebbed. And it was curious to note that 
some of such persons were equally disliked and abused by the 
stronger partisans of either tone of feeling and opinion, while 
others were excused and tolerated, and liked bj’- both sides. 

Of this latter sort was Carlo Brancacci. In his old student 
days at Pisa, in 1848, he had certainly called himself, and 
thought himself, a liberal, and had been the associate and dear 
friend of earnest and thorough-going liberals. But none of 
his friends and connections among the ‘‘black ” party had then 
shown him the cold shoulder, or shaken their heads and called 
him a dangerous man. Now, when the set of the social cur- 
rents carried him naturally and easily into “ dynastic ” asso- 
ciations and habitudes, none of his old friends greatly blamed 
him, and much less dreamed of considering hirn their enemy. 
He was so jolly, so good natured, so full of fun and laughter ; 
he was growing so fat ; he so utterly ignored all political dif- 
ferences between his intimates, and would throw his arm over 
the shoulder of an old friend, though he were a marked Cur- 
tatone man, just as affectionately in the midst of a group of fre- 
quenters of the court as he had ever done in student days at 
Pisa, that he was accepted as a friend in both camps, without 
being required to do duty as belonging to either. No man in 
Florence had so large an acquaintance among all classes ; and 
all his acquaintance were his dear friends. 

There was a certain similarity of character between him and 
his uncle, the Marchese Florimond. But Carlo’s was the 
larger, kindlier, and more genial nature. The difference was 
that the Marchese Florimond hated nobody ; but Carlo Bran- 
cacci loved everybody. 


UNCLE AND NEPHEW. 


341 


On the afternoon of the day after the terrible and memor- 
able scene in the church of Santa Croce — of tlie 30th of May, 
that is to say — Carlo Brancacci was sitting closeted with liis 
uncle in his bed room in the little Brancacci palace in the Via 
Larga. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon, and the 
Marchese Florimond had just arisen from his siesta. Carlo, 
after his visit to Malatesta in the prison of the Murate, had 
hurried home, sure that his uncle would be at that hour asleep 
in his own cool room. 

It made no part of Carlo’s intention to wake his uncle, for 
he wished to find him in perfect good humor, and in charity 
with all men ; which he well knew would not be the case if 
the Marchese Florimond’s siesta on a warm May afternoon 
were brought to any other than its natural termination. Hav- 
ing waited, therefore, patiently till this moment arrived in the 
due course of nature, and at its wonted time, Carlo sent in to 
say that he wished to speak with his uncle, and would be ob- 
liged if the Marchese would give him half an hour before he 
went out. ^ 

The conference between them lasted much longer than the 
time named, and the Marchese Florimond was missed that day 
in the Cascine. 

“ And you saw the documents supporting this extraordinary 
story ? ” said the Marchese, after he and his nephew had been 
talking some little time together. 

“ Oh, yes ! he has them all with him. There is no doubt at 
all about the matter. Besides, the proof has been accepted, 
and all put in train at Bologna,” replied Carlo. 

“ It is a most extraordinary story — a strange fatality ! And, 
the discovery comes just in the nick of time ! Truly I think 
one may see the hand of Providence in it ! ” said the little 
Marchese. 

“ I don’t know about the nick of time,” rejoined Carlo; I 
don’t think, for my part, that they would have succeeded in 
making the little Contessina marry that Marchese Alfonso, if 
you mean that.” 

“ I don’t know ! Girls have to marry the men chosen for 
them by their families, and, after a little more or less of kick- 
ing, do so every day ; and are very contented wives afterwards. 
Any way, it is fortunate that all this has come out before the 
Contessina was sent away to her convent at Palazzuolo. She 
was to have left Florence the day after to-morrow, or next day 


342 


UNCLE AND NEPHEW. 


at farthest. The Canonico Adalberto is not a man to joke 
with ! Per Dio ! he friglitens me, that man.’’ 

“ Ay ! I should think he was a difficult customer to deal 
with ! ” said Carlo.” 

“ I am glad, with all my heart, that it wdll be in time to 
prevent her from being sent aw^ay into exile again, poor little 
Contessina ! I say it again, it is in the nick of time ! ” 

“ Not a moment is to be lost, if all is to be put right before 
the day named for the departure of the Contessina,” observed 
Carlo. 

No time to be lost,” said his uncle ; and how do you 
purpose proceeding, since it seems that while nostro povero 
Giulio remains in prison, the matter is all in your owm 
hands.” 

The March ese Tloriraond’s mode of speaking of Malatesta 
■w^as a safe symptom that his fortunes were brightening. 
Though, like a good-natured uncle as he was, he had opened 
his house to his favorite nephew’s friend, he had never called 
him “ our Giulio ” before. 

“ Oh ! ” replied Carlo, the minister will soo5 make it all 
right. A mistake ! very sorry ! and there’s an end of the 
matter ! ” 

But what do you mean to do in the first place. Carlo 
mio f — speak to the Canonico Adalberto ? — lay all the circum- 
stances before bim ? ” 

‘^Not just 3 "et ! No! my notion is to have everything a 
little more prepared first ! And I wush that you should have 
all the credit of bringing the matter about, uncle ! ” said the 
judicious nephew. “You are the friend of the family I You 
are the Marchese Brancacci ! I am a mere nobody. It will 
come naturally and properly from you. It will be a pleasure 
to you, too, to communicate to the Contessa Zenobia what w’e 
must all know she will be pleased to hear.” 

“ Yes, indeed ! It has gone to her heart to use severity 
tow'ards the Contessina! If it had not been for the Canonico, 
she would never have had the courage to do it ! ” 

“And she will not be sorry, if I know anything of the Con- 
tessa Zenobia, to hear that that animal Alfonso’s nose is to be 
put out of joint, eh, uncle ? ” 

“What step do you propose that I should take first?” 
asked the little Marchese, exceedingly well pleased that the 
prominent part of the business in band should be assigned to 
him. 


UNCLE AND NEPHEW. 


343 


The first thing to be done is to put right this unlucky ac- 
cident of the arrest. Of course they will be ready enough to 
let a Piedmontese subject alone, and be glad enough to be 
sure they will hear no more of it. And, really, there does not 
seem to have been the smallest ground for arresting Giulio.” 

“ Of course not ! It was all a mistake — a blunder of those 
stupid carabinieri. The minister will be the first to see it in 
that light.’’ 

“ Do not you think that you will be able to see him about 
it to-night, so as to have an order for Giulio’s release sent the 
first thing in the morning ? ” 

“ I will try ! I will do so if it is possible ! But I must ac- 
company the Contessa to the Pergola, you know ! ” said the 
little man. 

“ Possibly you might see him at the Pergola,” suggested 
Carlo. 

• It is possible ! And then it would be all easy. But if not, 
I will be witli him the very first thing to-morrow morning. 
Of course I must tell him the whole circumstances?” 

“ There will be no need to enter on an}'^ question of the 
marriage. It wull be sufficient to say what will induce him to 
sign tlie order for Giulio’s liberation.” 

And about the Contessa ? What am I to say to her ? ” 
asked the docile Marchese. 

‘‘ Oh ! best say nothing yet. Let us w’ait till we have all 
ready. I must see this strange Abbess, too, somehow or other, 
and I have not an idea yet where she is to be found, or how to 
get speech of her rnaternit}’- when I do find her.” 

“Ah ! that may be likely enough to turn out a more diffi- 
cult matter than the other,” said the Marchese, shaking his 
head. “ I heard a talk of heresy, or some such matter. And 
though I thought that the Signor Canonico seemed more 
inclined to sneer at the thing than anytliing else, still those 
black cattle keep their affairs so close, and are so jealous of 
being meddled with, that I should not be surprised if you 
W’ere to find it a very difficult matter to get any opportunity 
of speaking to her, at all events privatel 3 ^” 

“ 1 do not know that it is absolutely necessaiy to speak to 
her privately. There will be nothing to be said that can do 
any mischief if overheard, if it comes to that,” said Carlo. 
“ I suppose they may put some old nun to see all fair between 
me and the Abbess. I have no objection ! ” 


344 


UNCLE AND NEPHEW. 


I do not quite understand what it is you have got to say 
to her/^ returned his uncle; ''^and in fact, the whole story is 
so strange and puzzling, that I don’t half understand it yet. 
What has the Abbess to do in the matter ? ” 

Why simply this. Giulio has, for a very long time, been 
most anxious, poor dear fellow, to discover his mother. And 
now, of course, it is more than ever desirable to do so. It is 
clear that the poor woman, whoever she is, has been foully 
wronged ; and if she is alive, and this side of the Alps, we 
will find her out.” 

“ But what has the heretical Abbess of Montepulciano got 
to do with the matter, in Heaven’s name ? ” reiterated the 
Marchese. 

Whj-, Giulio has reason to think that she knows something 
of his mother’s whereabouts. It seems that she herself told 
the Contessina Stella as much, and she wrote it to Giulio. 
He had been to Montepulciano to look her up, and had come 
thence to Florence the very morning that he was so unluckily 
arrested.” 

“ Of course she will be found if she is alive,” said the Mar- 
chese. “IJjider the altered circumstances of the case there 
will be little difficulty, I should say, in tracing her. It was 
different before this extraordinary discovery. As things are 
now, I should not wonder if you found it more difficult to get 
an interview with this Abbess than to discover the lady by 
other means.” 

“ I think I know how to set about it, however,” replied his 
nephew. 

‘‘ I am sure that is a great deal more than I do ! ” returned 
the senior. “ I know nothing about the way those sort of 
people manage their affairs. But I should not be astonished 
if tlie Archbishop’s Apparitor, or whatever they call it, or some 
such extraordinaiy animal, was your especial friend ; for you 
have friends in all sorts of out-of-the-way holes and corners !” 

my friend is nothing very much out of the common 
ranks of mortality this time,” replied Carlo, laughing. “ My 
old comrade and fellow student at Pisa, Kinaldo Palmieri, liad 
a sister in a convent at Pistoia. It was a house of the^ same 
order as that in which the Contessina was placed at Monte- 
jDulciano — the Ursulines. And it strikes me as very probable 
that she may be able to help me to the information I am in 
search of. I know she is now in Florence, at her mother’s 


UNCLE AND NEPHEW. 


845 


house. I know the old lad}’’, too, for when Giulio passed his 
Carnival here, three .years ago, I went there three or four times 
with him and the Contessina and Mademoiselle Zelie to see 
her, and give her an opportunity of thanking Giulio for having 
saved the life of a son of hers in an accident at Pisa — a poor 
lad who was killed afterwards at Curtatone.'^’ 

Ah ! that was a bad job, that Curtatone affair! — a sad 
mistake ! ” said the Marchese, shaking his head with the air 
of a Burleigh. 

And see,’’ rejoined his nephew, in a tone of mock senten- 
tiousness, attuned to that of his uncle’s last remark — ^^see how 
sure one is to suffer for it if one does a good action. If Giulio 
had not saved Enrico Palmieri’s life in the Cascine at Pisa, 
the boy would not have gone to be killed at Curtatone. And 
if he had not been killed at Curtatone, his name would not 
have been written on these bronze tablets, which seem likely 
to make as much noise in the world as Moses’ Tables of the 
Commandments. And if poor Enrico’s name had not been on 
the list, Giulio would not have gone to Santa Croce yesterday 
with the boy’s relatives to commemorate his death, and, conse- 
quently, would not have been arrested. It is a most imprudent 
act to save anybody’s life. One is responsible for all they do 
in the world afterwards ! ” 

“ Joking apart, however, my dear uncle,” said Carlo, return- 
ing to his business-like tone, there is one other matter con- 
nected with this affair that it would be well to attend to before 
we separate.” 

Anything I can do to put things straight in such a man- 
ner ” 

“I was thinking about the Marchese Cesare Malatesta at 
Eermo ” 

“ Ay I per Bacco ! I do not know what he will say to it ! 
It is an awkward business for him 1 Very awkward, take it 
any way, and look at it how you will ! ” said the Marchese, 
wdth an air of puzzled perplexity. 

“ He must lie on his bed as he has made it,” returned Carlo. 

But it will be a friendly act to give him immediate notice of 
the facts which have come to our knowledge.” 

‘‘ Certainly 1 certainly ! It is what I would wish any gentle- 
man to do to me in similar circumstances — Heaven forbid that 
I should ever come into such circumstances ! ” 

Well, wliat I was going to suggest was, that you should 
write to him at once,” said Carlo. 


846 


UNCLE AND NEPHEW. 


It will be a very difficult letter to write ! ” returned bis 
uncle, uneasily. “Do you happen to know if his second wife 
is still living ? ’’ 

“ No ! 1 know that she is not. He has been a widower 

many years. She died, I believe, soon after the birth of the 
Marohese Alfonso.’’ 

“ That is all the better — much better. She was a Sampler!, 
was she not?” asked the Marchese, thoughtfull 3 ^ 

“ Yes ! a Contessa Cecilia Sampieri, also of Fermo, I be- 
lieve.” 

“Oh! yes! The Sampieri of Fermo! a very, very well- 
known family — wealthy, influential, and much looked up to in 
that part of the country. There was a Cardinal of the name 
not so very long ago. If I remember right, there were brothers. 
I think the Contessa Cecilia had brothers. Do you happen to 
know if any one of them is sfill living ? ” 

“ No ! I know nothing about the family at all ! Why 
do you ask ? ” said Carlo, looking observantly at his uncle. 

“ Oh ! nothing ! mere curiosity ! It is nothing to us in any 

wa 3 ^ Only you conceive for the Marchese Cesare ! The 

Sampieri are a ver}’’ proud family ! ” 

“ Humph !” said Carlo, “ we are not called upon to look at 
that side of the matter at all ; all that must settle itself as it 
can. Now for the letter to the Marchese Cesare ! I do not 
see that it need be a very difficult one to write. I think I 
should not go into the circumstances, but write such a letter 
as must bring him here to Florence. It will be, on the whole, 
far better — necessary’’ indeed — that he should be here. Give 
me pen and ink and I will scratch the rough copy of a letter 
to be corrected and put in proper order by you. You under- 
stand that sort of thing so much better than I can be expected 
to do. There is nothing like being conversant with Courts and 
the practice of great affairs for giving one tact and skill in 
such matters.” 

Thus judiciously flattered, the Marchese Floriraond submit- 
ted without anj' difficult}^ to have his letter written for him by 
his nephew ; who sat down at his uncle’s rarely used writing- 
table, and produced the following epistle : 

“ IllustpvISsimo Signor Marchese, — 

“ Although 1 have never had the pleasure of making your 
personal acquaintance, I have little doubt that my name is 


UNCLE AND NEPHEW. 


847 


known to you, as having been for man}’- years honored hy the 
intimate friendship and confidence of the Contessa Zenobia 
Altamari, between wliose niece and ward, the Contessina 
Stella, and ^mur son, the Marchese Alfonso, it is proposed to 
form an alliance, which must be alike honorable and advanta- 
geous to either family. Your lordship has doubtless no need 
to be told by me, that some little difficulty is often experienced 
in such affairs, before the inexperience of a young girl can be 
led to see the advantages which mark the choice that has been 
made for her by her family. We have had some slight diffi- 
culty of this kind to contend with in the present case. I am 
not aware whether the* Marchese Alfonso may have thought 
it worth while to trouble your lordship with any such trifles ; 
and, under all the circumstances, I have deemed it best to 
write the present letter without .communicating with him upon 
the subject. 

“ The fact is, that the little difficulty has been complicated 
in this case by a very singular chance, which has so arranged 
matters, that the cause of the Contessina Stella’s unwilling- 
ness to fulfil at once the engagements made for her by her 
family, arises from a girlish preference previously couceived for 
no other than the Marchese Alfonso’s half-brother. Signor 
Giulio Malatesta ! — an excellent and estimable young man, to 
whom the family of the Contessina Stella would have most 
willingly accorded her hand, had his position been that of the 
Marchese Alfonso. — A curious trick of the jade Fortune ! is it 
not. Signor Marchese ? 

‘‘ Nevertheless, we should doubtless have succeeded wdth a 
little patience in smoothing away all these minor difficulties, 
had it not been that quite recently some very extraordinary 
circumstances have come to light, — or perhaps it would be 
more correct to say, — some very extraordinary assertions have 
been made touching nearly the position and interests of the 
Marchese Alfonso. It would seem, as far as I hav^e been able 
to learn, that these assertions or reports have taken their rise 
from the death-bed statements and confessions of a certain 
Marta Varani, who died recently at Bologna, and whose son. 
Dr. Pietro Varani, Professor of Materia Medica in the Uni- 
versit}" of Pisa, is now in Florence. The nature of these 
assertions, affecting as they very materially do, not only tho 
Marchese Alfonso, but yourself also, is such as, in my humble 
judgment, to require your immediate presence in Florence. 


848 


UNCLE AND NEPHEW. 


And I trust, Signor Marchese, that you will be of opinion that 
I have acted judiciously for your interest in giving you the 
earliest possible intimation of a matter which may, unless it 
be at once set at rest, lead to very serious consequences. 

I am, lllustrissimo Signor Marchese, with sentiments of 
the most distinguished respect. 

Of your illustrious lordship, 

“ The most humble and most obedient servant, 

Florimond Brancaccl 

« Florence, May 30, 1861.” 

There,” said Carlo, “ I think that will do the business ; 
which is to bring him to Florence, without telling him more 
of the cards in our hand than need be. The word I have 
dropped about the old w^oman at Bologna will no doubt be 
enough to frighten him. And I am sure the letter is courteous 
enough. But you will know better than me all about that, 
and will add any graces to the stjde that it may require.” 

So the Marchese Florimond sat down at once, and copied 
the letter his nephew had written, word for word ; as the 
young man knew very well that he would do. 

He sealed it, however, without handing it to Carlo again, 
saying, as he did so : 

“ There, that will do, I think. I have just touched it up a 
little. But the gist of it is what you proposed. But when 
the Marchese Cesare comes here, what then ? ” 

“ Oh ! Giulio will be at liberty by that time ; and they must 
meet. Of course it must come to that. But whether it will 
be better for some one else to make him acquainted first with 
the real state of the case, we shall see. I should have no ob- 
jection in life to undertake the job of doing so myself. The 
meeting between him and old Professor Varani will be a queer 
one. But I suppose they will have to meet too !” 

E un pasticcio cli * said the Marchese, lifting 

up his out-turned palms, and nodding his head. 

Yes ! a queer business enough ! ” agreed Carlo; “ but we 
and our friends are all on the right side of the hedge. And 
now I will go and talk to my old friend Signora Palmieri, and 
see if I can find out what I want from her daughter. You 
will remember your prom.ise, uncle, like a dear good uncle as 

o “ Pasticcio”— a pasty. A phrase very commonly used to signify an embroiled 

and thorny piece of business: “It is a hash of such a aortas ” may be the 

rendering of the Marchese’s observation. 


THE archbishop’s CHANCERY. 349 


you always are, and see the minister to-niglit, if possible ; and 
if not, tlie first thing to-morrow morning ? 

Never fear ! my mind is too full of the matter for there to 
be any chance of my forgetting it, I can tell you ! said the 
Marchese. 

“ And we understand one another ? Not a word as yet to 
any anj^body else ! 

‘‘ All right ! 

Shall I post your letter ? I must pass the post-office in 
the 'piazzaP 

Yes ! take it ! It is time for me to think about dress- 




ing ! ” 

“And oh! uncle ! said Carlo, turning as he was leaving 
the room, “ I shall be anxious to know if you have seen the 
minister. If I come home later than you, as is likely, in case 
you have succeeded, tell Beppo to put a sheet of paper — see, 
there is one ready, so that you can’t forget it — on the table in 
my room. If you have not seen him, don’t do so. In that 
way I shall know before I go to bed.” 

“ Yery good ! I feel as if I was turning conspirator, with 
all these signals and understandings !” 

And so the uncle and nephew parted. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE archbishop’s CHANCERY. 

When Carlo came home late that night — for, after his visit 
to Signora Palmieri, he had strolled into the Pergola, and 
having first duly made a little round of visits to a circle of ^ 
fair friends in the boxes, had joined a knot of young men, who' 
were lounging in the open space between the hindmost 
benches of the pit and the doors of it, and had consented to 
go with them, after the opera was over, to sup at the Botte- 
gone ; * — when Carlo at last reached his room in the Via Lar- 
ga, there was no sheet of paper on his table. 

o Botteoone — literally, big shop, from bottega., a shop. It is the nickname of a 
well-known cafe, at which suppers may be had during the “ small hours." 


850 


THE archbishop’s CHANCERY. 


He liad thought it likely that he might see his uncle on 
duty in the Contessa Zenobia’s box at the Pergola. But he 
did not reach the theatre till the last act of the opera ; and 
the Contessa Zenobia had departed as soon as the ballet was 
over, which at Florence is given between the acts of the 
opera. 

It was evident, however, from the absence of the signal 
agreed on, that the Marchese had failed to see the minister. 
He had been more successful himself, inasmuch as he had 
seen the persons he went to see. But he had not succeeded 
in obtaining the information he needed. The Signora Teresa 
Palmieri had been able, however, to put him in the way of as- 
certaining the facts. Half a day at least would be thus lost 
— the first half of the morrow, which was the 31st of May ! 
Stella, as matters now stood, was to leave Florence, at the 
latest, as the Marchese Florimond had said, on the 2nd of 
June ! 

Carlo was of opinion that the various facts which he was 
preparing to bring to the knowledge of the several parties in- 
terested in them, would, when they were known, have the 
effect of cancelling the Contessina Stella’s destined journey to 
Palazzuolo. He was very anxious to be in time to do so. 
But the time was very short. He began to think how he 
could cause the putting off of this terrible journey for a few 
daj's, without disclosing the secrets, of which he was the de- 
positary, before the proper moment for doing so arrived. He 
determined, however, to take no steps to that end just 3"et ; 
but to content himself with losing no time in prosecuting his 
inquiries. 

With this view he was on foot early the next morning, not- 
withstanding his late supper overnight; andTeaving a note to 
be given to his uncle as soon as he was stirring, reminding him 
of his promise to see the minister with a view to Giulio’s re- 
lease earlj" that morning, he succeeded before mid-day in as- 
certaining that the late Abbess of the nunnery of Santa Filo- 
mena at Montepulciano was now in a convent about three 
miles from Florence, in the direction of Sesto, and that an 
order from the Archbishop of Florence was requisite in order 
to be permitted to see her. 

After a short debate with himself whether he should induce 
his uncle to make an application to the Archbishop for the re- 
quired permission, or should ask him to give him, or procure 


THE archbishop’s CHANCERY. 851 

for him, a letter of recommendation to that magnate, the con- 
sideration of the pressure of time decided him to take a more 
direct course. It was already too late for him to find the 
Marchese at home, especially as he had promised to go out 
early for the purpose of seeing the minister. He could not 
tell where he would be likely to fall in with him before the 
evening. The whole day would thus have been lost. He de- 
termined, therefore, to go at once to the Archbishop himself, 
trusting to the recommendation of his name, and the decided- 
ly ‘‘ well-affected” reputation connected with it. 

Carlo’s notion was Miat he would go to the Archbishop’s 
door, ask if he was at home, and send in his card, desiring to 
see Monsignore! — drawing a very erroneous and delusive 
analog}' between the supposed habits of Archbishops and those 
of ordinary mortals. Carlo, though he had seen the Archbishop 
in the flesh, sitting with a great gold chain and cross round 
his neck, and a chaplain opposite to him, in a huge rickety 
old-fashioned carriage, with two long-tailed bla.cks in front, and 
two seedy-looking cocked-hatted footmen behind ; and might 
even have come within blessing range of bis fingers (vsupposhig 
the rays of benediction from episcopal forefingers to be sub- 
jected to laws at all analogous to those of the rays of light) ; 
had never spoken to any higher ecclesiastical dignitary than 
the Canon Adalberto Altamari. Not being, however, of those 
natures which are overpoweringly awed by the exteriors of 
human greatness, he had a very imperfect conception of the 
majesty which doth hedge an Archbishop, and had no idea 
that there was any difficulty in coming face to face with him. 

He knew well — who in Florence does not ? — the queer, 
ancient-looking ramshackle old pile of building to the west of 
the Baptistery, which is the Archbishop’s palace ; but he had 
never been inside it. By coasting, however, round those parts 
of the amorphous dust-encrusted old building, which froiit the 
Piazza di San Giovanni, and the Via dei ]\Iarignolli, he found 
in an obscure little lane called the Via dei Suchiellinai, or, 
‘‘ Street of the little gimlet-makers,” a low-browed archway, 
which gave entrance into an interior court, by a slight descent 
— the measure of the rise which in the lapse of centuries the 
progress of civil life had caused in the surrounding thorough- 
fares, while the Archbishop’s dwelling, as changeless as him- 
self, had remained characteristically at its ancient level. 

There was a specially forlorn, mouldy, and silent air of 


852 


THE ARCHBISHOr’s CHANCERY. 


quietude about this court, which contrasted strongly with the 
bustling life of the busiest part of the city outside it. The 
greatest part of it was in deep shade, and had that dank look, 
and those green shades about its stones, which indicate per- 
petual exclusion of the sunshine. One corner of the square 
space, however, was illuminated by a slanting ray, the habit- 
ual presence of which had imparted a quite different tone to 
the coloring of the walls of that part of the building. And 
on a stone bench in this privileged corner sat an old servant 
in the reddish chocolate-colored episcopal liver}’’, with the usual 
lavish abundance of coarse worsted lace on all the seams. 

The servants of the E-oman Catholic hierarchy, in Italy at 
least, are always remarkably shabby and dirty, and the spe- 
cimen in question was no exception to the rule. His abund- 
antly-laced livery looked as if it had been slept in for years ; 
and the wearer looked as if he were then sleeping in it. He 
stretched himself and yawned, but without rising from his seat 
in the sunshine, as Carlo came up to him. Nor was he startled 
into the exertion of speaking even by the unprecedented mon- 
strosity of that jaunty young gentleman’s demand, whether 
the Archbishop was at home ? It did make him open his eyes, 
and stare at the applicant ; but he vouchsafed no other reply 
than a listless movement of his hand towards a small half- 
glazed door, inside a strong outer door, which was standing 
open in another corner of the court. 

Obeying this silent indication as the only course before him, 
he opened the glazed door, and found himself in a small, dark, 
and very mouldy-looking room, and in the presence of two still 
more mouldy-looking individuals, who were sitting behind a 
table covered with oil-cloth, and encircled by a curtain of green 
calico, ill such sort that the lower part of the persons of those 
sitting behind the table were invisible. On it were writing 
materials, one or two stamps, and materials for making an im- 
pression of them on paper in red or black. The men were, 
however, doing nothing; — apparently not even talking to each 
other. Against the wall opposite to them under the window, 
which was so high as to be above the head of a man, there 
were two or three rush-bottomed chairs ; and these were the 
only other things in the room besides the tables, and the men 
sitting behind them. 

The two men stared at him with lacklustre eyes, without 
speaking, when he entered; and stared still more, when he 


THE archbishop’s CHANCERY. 


353 


repeated his demand for the Archbishop. After motioning 
him to sit on one of the chairs against the wall, they proceeded 
leisurely to discuss in an under tone the nature of a case evi- 
dently altogether unprecedented in their experience ; and at 
last one of them, with visible reluctance, dragged himself 
from his chair and sauntered into an inner room, the door of 
which he presently held open, and signed to Carlo to enter. 

There, in a somewhat better furnished room, sat, also behind 
a table similarlj" covered and similarly curtained round its legs, 
a man of a higher grade ^f that same class of hybrid lay- 
clerical functionaries. He somewhat more courteously begged 
Carlo to be seated, and asked him his business, and his name. 

Carlo showed his card (which evidently produced an imme- 
diate impression), and said that he wished to speak to the 
Archbishop on business of a very particular and urgent des- 
cription. 

“It is not — ahem — usual. Signor Marchese — (Carlo, as del 
Marches! Brancacci, had a right to the title) — for the Arch- 
bishop to receive — ahem — applicants without previous appoint- 
ment, and without knowing the nature of the business they 
wdsh to speak on. But I have no doubt that his reverence 
the Archbishop’s chaplain would see ijoii — (with a bow and a 
marked emphasis on the word) — and you wmuld probably find 
that it would serve your purpose as well as seeing the Arch- 
bishop himself.” 

Carlo expressed his willingness to confide his business to the 
ear of the chaplain, and the official, w'ho had recommended 
that course, taking with him Brancacci’s card, left him for a 
few minutes, and then came back, saying that the chaplain 
w'ould see him. 

The man who received him in a small but comfortably fur- 
nished snuggery, occupying a mezzanino^ in the palace, and 
reached from the above-mentioned offices on the ground floor 
by a small secret stair, was a ver}'' different sort of individual 
from that Archbishop’s chaplain who had bullied poor Pietro 
Varani at the memorable interview wdth the Cardinal after the 
clandestine marriage. This was a young man, not manj'- 
years Carlo’s senior, and dressed as elegantly as tlie strict 
rules of ecclesiastical costume would permit. And within 
those limits there was plenty of room for a considerable dis- 
play of clerical dandyism. The knee and shoe buckles w'ere 
o A mezzanino is the same thing as what the French call an “ entresol.” 

22 


354 


THE archbishop's CHANCERY. 


gilt, and small. The stockings perfectly well drawn over the 
well-shaped leg, were of silk instead of worsted. The shoe 
was well cut and well fitting ; the professional collar scrupu- 
lously clean, the straight-cut frock-coat of fine glossy cloth, 
and admirably fitting the waist and shoulders; and he wore 
one or two rings of value on the taper fingers of an exquisitely 
white hand. 

He rose as Carlo entered the room, and courteously inviting 
him to take a seat, waited the opening of his business with a 
smile on his face, which seemed to ask what on eartli such an 
one as Carlo could want with him. 

“The fact is, your reverence,” said he, encouraged by the 
appearance and manner of his interlocutor to speak more 
openly than he would otherwise have been inclined to do — 
“ the fact is, that in my ignorance of all such matters, I imag- 
ined that I could see the Archbishop, and ask him at once 
the favor I desire, and tell him the motives of my asking it. 
It seems that such is not the case.” 

“Why, no!” said the chaplain, relaxing into a still more 
friendly smile ; “ it would never do, you see. The business to 
be transacted is too much in quantity, and in quality rarely so 
agreeable as the present” — (with a courteous bow and an 
extra smile). “ It is usually my duty to attend, in the first 
instance, to the applications of those who have business with 
Monsignore. In what can I serve you ? ” 

“ Well ! ” said Carlo, “the application I wished to make is 
a strange one ; and to explain and show a reason for it, it is 
necessary to speak of a portion of the private family history 
of a valued friend of mine. I felt that I might safely confide 
this to the ears of the Archbishop. And I doubt not that it 
may be equally trusted to the discretion of your reverence.” 

“ My dear Signor Marchese,” said the young chaplain, nod- 
ding his head, “ we have to become the depositaries of a great 
many more strange secrets than you may think for. The 
honor of many a family is in our keeping — and is, I be- 
lieve perfectly safe. In any case, I think I may venture to 
say that 3mu may confide to me what you had made up jmur 
mind to tell to the Archbishop.” 

“ No doubt ! no doubt ! ” said Carlo ; “ and I shall be most 
happy if you will kindly give me jmur advice in the matter. 
Your reverence is doubtless aware of the case of a Superior of 
a convent of Ursuliue nuns at Montepulciano, who has been 


THE archbishop’s CHANCERY. 355 

transferred to Florence, under accusations of heresy, or miscon- 
duct of some sort ? ” 

“ Oh ! 3^es ! I know that there is such a case ! The Motlier 
Abbess of Santa Filomena ! She has been sent to a convent 
out towards Sesto. Some convent quarrel ! It is all stuff and 
nonsense about heresy, or any such big words,” said the chap- 
lain ; some stupid provincial quarrel or otlier ! But it will 
be probably necessary to remove the Abbess from her position, 
and place her in some other convent. There will be no quiet- 
ing the silly women else ! It is a pity that the whole lot of 
them can’t be condemned to a twelvemonth of absolute 
silence !” added the chaplain, with a laugh. 

“ In truth, your reverence is in the right of it,” rejoined 
Carlo, laughing ; but it is not about the Abbess that I 
wished to speak at present. The fact is, that a lady with 
whom the Marchese Malatesta formed a liaison in early life 
before his marriage, and who was, in all probabilty, placed in 
some convent by the care of the late Cardinal, the present 
Marchese’s uncle, has bemi lost sight of for many years. The 
lady in question had a child, who was, during the Cardinal’s 
life, supported and educated bj;' his care ; and it is now desired, 
if possible, to discover whether the mother is still alive or not. 
Curiously enough, it seems that this Abbess, hearing, Heaven 
knows how ! of these particulars, has communicated to some 
of the family that she can give some information on the sub- 
ject of this missing lady. Now, all I want. Signor Abate, is 
a permission to speak with the Abbess on the subject on 
behalf and as a friend of the famil3^” 

It will be observed that Carlo slyly told his stor}’ so as to 
leave on the chaplain’s mind the impression that the informa- 
tion sought was desired by the magnates of the farnilj^, and 
not merely by the outcast son of the bond-woman. 

The chaplain, supposing that he was obliging the Marchese 
Malatesta, and quite reassured by the name, and connexions, 
and social position of Brancacci, said : 

“ Oh, there will be no difficult}' about that ! I should not 
be a bit surprised if the old lady were able to help jmu in 
your search. Nuns are terrible gossips. Bless you ! they 
know all sorts of things ; — pick up facts as magpies do missing 
trifles, and hide them away as carefully.” 

“ Can your reverence complete your kindness by procuring 
me the order at once ? ” asked Carlo. 


356 


THE archbishop’s CHANCERY. 


I dare say I can,’^ replied the obliging chaplain. I can 
write it in two minutes. But it must have the Archbishop’s 
signature. I dare say I can get him to sign it at once, though 
his time for doing such things is an earlier hour of the morn- 
ing. But he is very kind, and if I tell him that time is 
urgent ” 

“ I should be so much obliged to you ! ” said Carlo, eagerly, 
in dismaj’’ at the idea of losing another four-and-twenty hours. 

The chaplain wrote the order, as he had said, in two min- 
utes ; and then, desiring his visitor to wait a few moments, 
left the room by a different door from that opening on the 
secret stair, by which Carlo had reached it, and in a very short 
time brought back the required signature. 

“ There ! Signor Marchese ; it is all right. By-the-b3%^’ 
added the chaplain, “jmu know, of course — or rather,” he 
added, with a laugh and a look that approached curiously near 
to a v/ink without absolutely being one, ‘‘of course you don’t 
know enough of the ways of nunneries to be aware, that one 
of the sisterhood of the house will have to be present at your 
interview with the Abbess. But there are two way^s of being 
present at an interview. I will write a line tq the Superior of 
the house, which will prevent jmu from being annoj’ed by any 
eaves-dropping. I am glad I thought of it.” 

Carlo reiterated his acknowledgments; and the chaplain 
scribbled a little note to the Superior, which he enclosed in a 
huge square envelope, and sealed with a huge official seal. 

“ I have written the order generall}’,” added the chaplain, 
“ so that if you find it necessary- to repeat your visit, jmu can 
do so without any fresh application here. But perliaps 3’ou 
wull let me hear the upshot of the business, for 1 take an in- 
terest in it. The routine of our ordinary affairs here is suffi- 
ciently’' uninteresting ” 

Carlo promised that he wmuld return and tell the obliging 
chaplain the whole story" as soon as he became acquainted w’itli 
it ; thinking it natural enough that curiosity should be excited, 
by so strange a romance, and never dreaming that the reverend 
gentleman's only real motive was the cultivation of an acquain- 
tance with himself. 

Again thanking the chaplain for his kindness, he was dis- 
missed by" him through a door which led him by" two or three 
other rooms to the main staircase of the palace ; so that he had 
not to return through the miserable offices on the ground floor. 


CARLO BRANCACCI AND THE ABBESS. 


35T 


“ When next you give me the pleasure of seeing you,” said 
the cliaplain, as he parted from him, “ ask Ibr me by name, 
and you. will be shown in by this road ; the other is for other 
purposes. Addio, Signor Marchese ! ” 

Carlo lost not a minute, as soon as he was outside of the 
Arcliiepiscopal palace, in jumping into u fiacre, and telling the 
driver to make the best of his way out of the Porta di Prato, 
and along the road towards Sesto. 


CHAPTER III. 

CARLO BRANCACCI AND THE ABBESS. 

Carlo may be excused for not giving all the attention it 
deserved to the exceeding beauty of the drive, about half the 
distance to Sesto — the sixth milestone on the road to the little 
city of Prato — which took him to the convent he was in quest 
of. The road lying first along the lowest slopes of the villa- 
studded hill of Fiesole, and then creeping close at the foot of 
the sterner, but still beautiful, Monte Morello, has beauties of 
no ordinary kind. “Monte Morello, the dark mountain,” as 
the Florentines call it, is no longer such when the rays of an 
afternoon Italian sun are lighting up the folds in its huge 
flank. It is then purple — a rose-colored — a violet-colored — 
an amber mountain ; fora hazy bloom of all these colors melt- 
ing into each other lies upon it. The road to Sesto is just 
sufficiently raised above the irrigated flat of the broad and 
fertile valley to show the whole of its variegated green surface 
to the traveller, and to give him the panorama of the Cascine 
woods, and the darker sides and tops of the lower range of 
hills, which shut in the valley of the Arno to the southward. 

Carlo was, on the occasion in question, too anxious about his 
coming interview with the Abbess to have any thoughts for the 
scene around him. He was anxious on his friend’s account 
about the result of his quest; but he was also — which was 
strange for Carlo Brancacci, and ver}" unlike his usual self — 
a little nervous about his interview. He had never spoken 
with, or even seen an Abbess in his life. He was conscious 


858 


CARLO BRANCACCr AND THE ABBESS. 


of being wholly ignorant of the proper mode of addressing 
her, and behaving towards her. His embarrassment was in- 
creased by the knowledge that she was an Abbess nnder a 
cloud. For the first time in his life he felt shy and diffident. 
He spent the entire time during which his little journey lasted 
in trying to figure to himself what the Abbess would say to 
him, and what he should say in return. 

A little less than an hour sufficed to bring him to the door 
of the convent — a little building of ver}^ humble pretensions 
attached to a picturesquelj'" situated church, the raised terrace 
on the hillside in front of which, shaded by a group of magni- 
ficent cypresses, made it a marked object, as seen from the val- 
ley below. 

It seemed to Carlo an immense time after he had pulled the 
little iron ring attached to a chain, which passed through a 
door of the building, niched into a corner between it and the 
contiguous churchj before any notice was taken of his summons. 
Yet he had pulled it, not as an Englishman pulls a bell, with 
one single pull, but as Tuscans are wont to do, with three or 
four pulls one after the other j not because thej" are impatient, 
but because they deem such an application of force necessary 
to cause a bell to ring. 

At last, a little door about five inches square, cut in the 
panel of the large door, was opened, and disclosed a little iron 
grating behind it — for the aperture of five inches square was 
deemed, Heaven only knows why ! too large to be left wholly 
unprotected. And behind the grating a pair of black eyes 
under shaggy grey eyebrows, surmounted by a snow-wliite 
hood — (nuns are generally as clean as monks are the reverse) 
— gleamed through the grating, and a harsh voice demanded 
the visitor’s business. 

Carlo managing so to fold the two papers of which he was 
the bearer — the Archbishop’s order, and the chaplain’s letter 
to the Superior — as to enable him to thrust them between the 
bars of the grating, requested that they might be given to the 
head of the house. The old portress, having ej^ed him with 
extreme curiosity and surprise, bade him wait a few minutes 
where he was, and she would bring him an answer. 

Again Carlo’s undisciplined patience was somewhat severely 
tried, and he began to imagine that there must be something 
informal or wrong in some way about tlie order he had present- 
ed. At last, however, he heard a withdrawing of bolts on the 


CARLO BRANCACCI AND THE ABBESS. 859 

inner side of tlie door, wdiicli was presently opened, and he was 
bidden by the same harsh voice which had before spoken to 
him to enter and follow her. 

She carefullj^ closed, locked, and re-bolted the small but 
massive round-headed door beliind him ; and then preceded 
him along a narrow passage between spotless wliitewashed 
walls, tinkling from time to time a little hand-bell which she 
carried, in order to warn the inmates of the house to keep 
themselves out of the way and out of the sight of the male 
stranger. She opened a door at the farther end of the pas- 
sage, and ushered him into a cheerful-looking, but almost un- 
furnished square room, of rather large size. It was cheerful 
by reason of two large windows, which opened on a neat and 
well-kept garden, full of sunshine and bright flowers. But 
within there was little enough that was agreeable to the eyes. 
The walls were whitewashed like those of the passage, and 
were hung with some half-dozen colored engravings in mean 
frames. Around these bare-lookirig walls were ranged a few 
rush-bottomed chairs, and in the middle of the room was a 
plain square deal table, with an inkstand, a pen, and a sand 
dish on it. There was no other article in the room ; no fire- 
place ; and the floor was of naked, but perfectly clean-swept 
bricks. 

Carlo approached one of the windows, and regaled his eye 
with the sunny peacefulness of the pretty scene beneath it. 
But as before five minutes had elapsed he had tired of the 
occupation, and was again impatient, it seems probable enough 
that those whose onlj^ outlook for long years was this same 
peaceful garden, might cease to appreciate the poetry of the 
scene, and become not a little sick of the peacefulness of it. 

At last the door opened and two figures entered. It was 
impossible for Carlo to doubt for an instant which of the two 
was the Abbess, even if in return for his grave obeisance the 
taller and younger woman had not given him the formal 
benedictory finger-flourish, which indicated that she had not 
yet at least been deposed from her ecclesiastical rank. The 
other woman, the older of the two, immediately took a chair, 
and placing it near the door by which they had entered, rested 
her bent knees against the front part of the seat, and bending 
down her face and head over the back of it, became to all ap- 
pearance entirely immersed in the telling of her beads. 

The Abbess, stepping across the room, not without some 


360 CARLO BRANCACCl AND THE ABBESS. 

stateliness of manner, to the window at the side farthest from 
tlie door, motioned to Carlo to place chairs close to it. 

‘‘ Beverenda Madre,^’ said Carlo, who remained standing till 
the Abbess made a sign to him to be seated; Beverenda, 
Madre, I am here as the particular and intimate friend of 
Signor Giulio Malatesta.’^ (The Abbess gave a slight start ; 
and any one who had been more observant of the person he 
was talking with, and less occupied with thinking of what he 
had to say himself than Carlo, would have noticed that her 
pale cheek was overspread for a minute by a delicate flush.) 

We were comrades at Pisa, and — and — I am commissioned 
— that is to say, he desires me to tell your maternity, that — • 
in short, that you can say to me freely anything that concerns 
him.” 

“ May I ask of you, my son, why, if it is the wish of Signor 
Giulio Malatesta to communicate with me, he prefers to send 
a friend rather than to come hither himself?” replied the 
Abbess, speaking in a low and singularly sweet tone of voice. 

“Signora,” said Carlo — “pardon me, mia Madre, I would 
say ; that is explained more easily than satisfactoril3^ It is 
possible that your maternity may have heard, that on the oc- 
casion of the anniversary of the battle of Curtatone, there was 
some difficulty’- between the police and the people. Giulio, 
who had arrived in Florence only that morning, was unfortu- 
nately arrested, together with several others, in the church of 
Santa Croce. He was guilty of no offence against the govern- 
ment, and will, doubtless, very shortly be set at liberty. 
Other friends are busy in taking care that such shall be the 
case. In the mean time, he is unable to wait upon your 
maternity.” 

“ Perhaps you are, at least in some degree, acquainted with 
the nature of the subject on which he wished to speak with 
me ? ” said the Abbess, in the same low, sweet tones. 

“ Oh, yes ! ” returned Carlo, beginning to feel more at his 
ease, and speaking more in his natural manner; “I know all 
about it. I may say, I believe, that Giulio honors me with his 
entire confidence.” 

The Abbess looked up at him for an instant wdth more at- 
tention than she had yet bestowed on him, and then, with a 
little gracious bow, awaited his further explanations. 

“The fact is,” continued Carlo, “that some time since it 
was intimated to my friend,” — and here Carlo 'became again 


CARLO BRANCACCI AND THE ABBESS. 


361 


embarrassed, not knowing how far he might be doing mischief 
bj^ compromising Stella as the author of the “intimation,” 
“ in a letter from — from a friend ; ” he went on hesitating — 

“ — Yes!” interrupted the Abbess, “ by a letter from the 
Contessa Stella Altamari ” 

“ Exactly so, your maternity ! ” continued Carlo, with a bow 
and a smile, and now feeling that he was on safe ground ; 
“from the Contessina Stella Altamari; it was intimated to him 
in a letter from the Contessina Stella, that it was very probable 
that 3mur maternity might be able to afford m}.’ friend Mala- 
testa important information regarding a matter that has long 
been one of great anxiety to him — the discovery of his mother. 
May I ask your maternity,” he continued, after a pause, “ if 
3'ou are aware of the circumstances of my friend Malatesta’s 
birth ? ” 

“ I am not unacquainted with those circumstances,” replied 
the Abbess, speaking in a still lower tone than before, and 
casting down her eyes to the floor. 

“ You will be aware, then,” continued Carlo, “ that it is 
the dearest wish of Giulio’s heart to find the unfortunate 
mother whom he lost in infancy ? ” 

“ Nay, Signore 1 ” said the Abbess, “ my knowledge of the 
circumstances of his birth does not include any knowledge of 
his present feelings and wishes.” 

“ Surely,” said Carlo, with some surprise in his voice, “ the 
one follows from the other. Of course he is verj’’ anxious, — 
or whether it is of course or not, he is very anxious to find his 
mother, — very anxious ; it is the great anxiety of his life.” 

“ Are you aware. Signore, since you have, as you say, been 
so long and so intimately his friend, whether he has long felt 
the anxiety you speak of?” said the Abbess, still speaking 
hardly above a whisper, and, it seemed, Carlo fancied with 
surprise, almost tremulously. 

“ Unquestionably as long as I have known him, it has been 
his great desire. But since his position has become changed, 
since, as I may say, he has a position, and a good one in the 
world, he is naturally still more desirous than ever to find his 
mother, to whom he might now offer a support and comfort, 
which, before he had made a place for himself in the world, 
he could not have offered to her.” 

“ It is, however, a long time — several months — since the 
communication you have alluded to was made to him,” said 
the Abbess, still not looking up from the floor. 


862 


CARLO BRANCACCr AND THE ABBESS. 


Yes ! In tlie first place, it seems not to have reached him 
till along time after it was written. And then business of 
a very important nature, — the upshot of which, I may sa^’, 
makes it more desirable than ever that he should discover his 
mother, — required bis immediate presence in the south of 
France.’’ 

The Abbess here lifted her eyes for an instant, and shot 
one sharp inquiring glance into Carlo’s face; but finding 
nothing there but calm business-like attention to what he was 
saying, she dropped her eyes again to the floor while he con- 
tinued. 

“ As soon as ever he returned from that journey, he hastened 
to Montepulciano in the hope of finding your maternity there. 
Failing in that hope, he followed you to Florence, where, within 
a few hours of his arrival, he was unfortunately arrested and 
thrown into prison, as I have already said ; and being thus 
incapacitated from following up the inquiry he has so much 
at heart himself, his first thought was to depute me to do so 
for him. I, on my part, may certainly claim to have lost no 
time. I took immediate steps to ascertain the place of your 
maternity’s present residence. Having succeeded in that, I 
went at once to the chaplain of the Archbishop, and obtained 
from him the order— dated not two hours ago — which has pro- 
cured for me the advantage of the present interview.” 

“ I have every reason to be grateful to you. Signore, for your 
zealous activity,” murmured the Abbess. ^ 

“ Say, rather, that Giulio may be satisfied with my care for 
his interests,” replied Carlo, somewhat surprised ; though 
doubtless,” he added, “ it will be a gratification to your mater- 
nity to contribute to a result which will make the happiness of 
a mother and her son.” 

^‘But that is just the point which demands mature and 
serious consideration,” said the Abbess, looking up and speak- 
ing with more decision and strength* of voice than she had 
done previously. 

“ How so ? ” said Carlo, in a voice of surprise. “ What is 
the point to which your maternity refers?” 

^‘‘Would it be a result contributing to the happiness of your 
friend, if we were to succeed in finding this lost mother? I 
am glad. Signore, to have an opportunity of speaking with a 
judicious and tried friend of Signore Malatesta on this point 
before communicating on the subject with him himself. I put 


CARLO BRANCACCI AND THE ABBESS. 


363 


it to you, as his friend, and as a man knowing more of the 
world and its ways than a poor recluse can pretend to do, 
whether it would be for the advantage of Signore Giulio 
Malatesta to discover a mother lost under such circumstances. 
I put it to your serious consideration, not only the question 
whether it would be well, as regards his position in the world, 
to find a mother who must bring disgrace with her when 
found ’’ 

But allow me to observe ” said Carlo. 

“ Excuse me. Signore,” interrupted the Abbess, in her turn, 
with a courteous but slightly authoritative wave of her slight 
and elegant white hand; “excuse me, if I beg you to allow 
me to finish what I was saying. I have put the questions I 
was putting to you very earnestly before myself — a poor re- 
cluse, necessarily very ignorant of the world, and of the mo- 
tives and feelings that rule men in it — and I shall be trul}^ 
glad to have the mature opinion of a man of the wmrld, and a 
devoted friend of Signore Malatesta, on the subject. I was 
about to ask of your judgment whether it would be advanta- 
geous to Giulio Malatesta to discover a mother who must bring 
disgrace wdth her ” 

Carlo again opened his mouth to speak, but remained silent 
in obedience to a gesture of the Abbess. 

“ — And further, whether in a strictly moral point of view 
it would be good for him to make such a discovery ; — whether 
the good feeling towards that unknown mother, with which he 
is now animated, could be trusted to continue towards a mother 
known only as a source of pain and trouble and disgrace ; — 
whether it might not be safer for the happiness, and even for 
the moral nature of both these persons, that the}^ should remain 
unknown to each other ? I desire, I say, your best attention 
and well-considered opinion on these points. We must take 
care, in such a case as this, that we do not bring about evil 
instead of good.” 

“ But had not these considerations occurred to, and been 
decided by your maternity, before you communicated in tlie 
first instance to my friend the hopes you held out to him ? ” 
asked Carlo. 

“ Doubtless they had occurred to me ! ” said the Abbess, 
with a deep sigh. “ When you have reached my years, my 
son, you will probably be aware that when one doubts greatly, 
one may be led to take a step towards acting, in one sense. 


864 CARLO BRANCACCI AND THE ABBESS. 

without being definitively and satisfactorily convinced that 
the opposite may not be after all the wisest. I have doubted 
very greatl}’- in this niatter. I have no objection to tell you 
that the communication made to Signor Malatesta was made 
very much in accordance with the urgent desire of the lady 
who wrote to him, as you have mentioned. I had the advan • 
tage of her opinion on the subject — the opinion of a pure and 
unsullied heart at all events, if not of a much experienced 
head, and of one as devotedly the friend of Signor Malatesta 
as yourself. Now I desire, as I have said, to have the benefit 
of your counsel on a point which requires so much circum- 
spection.’^ 

“ Your maternity does my poor judgment far too much 
honor to imagine that it is worth the having,” returned 
Carlo; have never had the happiness of knowing a mother 
myself! But my notion would be all for finding her if she 
was above ground, let her be who she might, and what she 
might ! And that is the feeling of Giulio. That w^ould be 
his feeling, let what would be his position, whether he was the 
Marchese Malatesta with a big estate, or a poor student at 
Pisa with nothing at all, or a soldier of fortune with a good 
sword and good prospects, as he is now I In any case, it is a 
sorrow and a bitterness to him to think that there is some- 
where a poor mother with no son’s love to comfort her ! Lord 
bless 3'ou — I beg your maternity’s pardon,” said Carlo, think- 
ing that such a colloquialism might very likely sound improper 
to ecclesiastical ears, — “ I only meant to say that I know very 
well what he feels ; he wants to have a mother’s love, and to 
give a mother his love. As to her share in the matter, I can 
only say that if you knew Giulio as I know him, you would 
feel it to be such a cruelty as you would not wish to be guilty 
of, to stand in the way of her recovering such a son ! Be she 
who she may, or what she may, she may be proud and thank- 
ful to be the mother of Giulio ! But ” continued Carlo, 

in a voice of crescendo eagerness, — and then he suddenly 
stopped. 

“ But what ? ” asked the Abbess, looking up quickly, with a 
sort of alarmed expression in her eye. 

“But 1 was going to say 1 was thinking,” stam- 

mered Carlo, evidently doubtful and puzzled, “ I was going to 
tell your maternity, in short, that certain facts, which have 
recently come to my friend’s knowledge, are such as are of 


CARLO BRANCACCI AND THE ABBESS. 


865 


a nature to make it far more desirable than ever — far more 
desirable than it was before, that Giulio should succeed in dis- 
covering his mother.’’ 

Indeed ! ” said the Abbess, looking up with a puzzled ex- 
pression. May I ask. Signore, if you are acquainted with 
the nature of the circumstances you allude to ? ” 

Carlo paused for a while before answering her, plunged 
apparently in anxious thought. 

“ Frankl}^, then, Madre mia^^ he said at length, “ I do 
know all about the circumstances in question. My hesitation 
was caused by doubting whether I ought to tell them to you, 
or to leave them to be told by Giulio himself. I think the last 
will be best. He will, T trust and believe, be at liberty very 
soon ; and perhaps I shall act more rightly in adhering strictly 
to the terms of my commission, which was to entreat your 
maternity to communicate to me the information jmu may have 
it ih your power to bestow. Doubtless Giulio will do himself 
the honor of waiting on you, and can then act as he may think 
fit about his own secrets ; they are family secrets of great im- 
portance. I may say that the facts to which I am alluding 
make it very clearly and unmistakably far more desirable than 
ever, as I have said alreadj", that the missing lady should be 
found. I may add that the facts which have recently been 
brought to light are of a nature entirely favorable and agreea- 
ble both to her and to him.” 

It was now the turn of the Abbess to pause for a while in 
meditation. She remained for a few minutes absorbed in deep 
thought ; and then looking up with a cleared but almost 
solemn expression of countenance, she said : 

“ I am utterly at a loss to guess what can be the nature of 
the facts you have been speaking of. I doubt not that you 
are exercising a sound discretion in leaving it to your friend to 
communicate them to me or to withhold them, as he may see 
fit. But the manner in which you have spoken of Giulio Mal- 
atesta, the warm regard you entertain for him, and the entire 
confidence he reposes in you, as evidenced by his sending you 
hither to me, have determined me to confide to jmu, Giulio’s 
friend, the fact which I have so long and painfully doubted 
whether I should do well to communicate to himself. When I 
have done so, you will be better able to judge whether it will 
be well done to tell the secret to him. I implore of you, if, 
when you shall know who and what Giulio Malatesta’s mother 


866 


CARLO BRANCACCI AND THE ABBESS. 


is, it should seem to you less desirable than you may now 
think it that the fact should be told to him, ^mu will use your 
discretion as a friend to conceal it from him. The mother of 
Giulio Malatesta,” she went on, speaking with a kind of breath- 
less fevered rapidity, but still in the low tone, which she had 
used during most of the conversation, — the mother of Giulio 
]\Ialatesta is a veiled nun, the inmate of a cloister for more 
than twenty years ; — a deposed and disgraced Abbess j — even 
she who is now speaking to you ! ’’ 

Good God ! ” exclaimed Carlo, in a voice which made the 
kneeling and probably sleeping nun at the farther corner of 
the room start, and stare at him with an angry scowl, before, 
she recomposed herself in her previous position. 

“It is even so I” said the Abbess, in a sad voice of deep 
humility. “Again I ask you, if you still think it right and 
wise to assist your friend to discover such a mother ? ’’ 

Carlo seemed hardly to be listening to what she said. He 
was pacing up and down before the window near which they 
had been sitting, three steps one way and three the other, 
biting his thumb-nail with his eyes fixed on the ground. 

“ I have a good mind ! ” he muttered — “ I have a good mind 
to tell her ! But it would be unfair to him ! It would be cruel 
to him ! Ho ! I will say nothing ! Ecco, Signora ! ” he 
said, turning to the Abbess, who sat almost visibly trembling 
on her chair, as waiting for her doom ; — “I beg pardon, I mean 
to say, your maternity, my opinion is that it is absolutely nec- 
essary, and your bounden duty (excuse me for the expression) 
to tell Giulio what you have told me at the earliest possible 
opportunity. Depend on me for making that opportunity with 
as little delay as may be. I will not tell him, for the same 
reason that I will not tell you now, what he will have to hear 
from you when he comes ; — because I will not take the bloom 
off the most exquisite pleasure that either of you have ever 
known ! Addio, Signora ! — Beverend Mother, I mean ! I 
must hasten back to Florence ! Will your maternity tell the 
old woman to let me out ? 

As soon as Carlo found himself, having with much difficulty 
refrained from swearing at the old portress for her slowness, 
once more outside the gate, he jumped into his fiacre, iwughly 
waked the sleeping driver, and told him if he wanted double 
fare to drive like mad to Florence. 

“ Your illustrious lordship sees that wind blowing off the top 


carlo’s supper. 


867 


of Monte Morello toward the Duomo ? said the man, point- 
ing with liis whip as he spoke ; well, we’ll catch it, and j[)e in 
Florence first ! ” 

So saying, he leisurely mounted his box, with a whole salvo 
of cracks of his whip started olf at a gallop of seven miles an 
hour, which reduced itself to about four within a couple of 
hundred yards. , 


CHAPTER IV. 

CARL o’ S SUPPER. 

The magnificent range of palaces and terrace street forming 
the new Lung’ Armo, and extending from the foot of the Ponte 
alia Carraia to the entrance of the Casciue, did not exist in 
1851. Nor was there any such possibility of passing from the 
handsomest part of the city directly to the well-watered avenues 
and shady drives of the Cascine, without any intervening mor- 
sel of vulgar dusty road, as is now provided for the frequenters 
of the Florentine Rotten-row by the handsome new gateway 
which leads directly from the extremity of the Lung’ Armo to 
the confines of the Cascine. Very few fair equestrians fre- 
quented the soft rides among the woods, or showed themselves 
amid the throng of carriages on piazzetta in those days in 
comparison with the number that may now be seen there. 
All the loves of hats and bonnets in the press of carriages in- 
conveniently jostling each other in the narrow gangway of the 
Porta a Prato had to be exposed to a sprinkling of dust from 
the Prato road before they reached their exhibition place. 
Worse still was the inconvenience of the return through that 
same archway. For all the world left the Cascine at the same 
time. Every one wanted to go home to dinner. There would 
often be a string of carriages extending from the gate half way 
to the Cascine waiting to get into the city. Then fumed the 
Englishmen, and sat placidly patient the Tuscan ; and many 
a dinner was spoiled by waiting for belated guests. 

There is no such scene at the Porta a Prato in these days. 
Carlo Brancacci, returning from the convent on the Sesto road, 
got to the city gate just as the world was returning from the 


368 


carlo’s supper. 


Cascine, and the gate was blocked by a line of carriages for the 
next half hour ! For once, Tuscan as he was, Carlo was impa- 
tient. The delay was very vexatious. In vain he stood up in 
the dusty ramshackle little open carriage, and urged the driver 
to attempt to cut in to the file of carriages. The dirty little 
fiacre was obliged to await its turn 5 and Carlo the while was 
exposed to a fire of questions and bantering from acquaintances 
in more aristocratic vehicles. 

“ What ! Brancacci ! where in the world do you come 
from ? ’’ 

I say. Carlo, you’ll have to pay at the gate on all that 
dust. You can’t take in such an unreasonable large quantity 
free ! ” 

In general, Brancacci would have been quite ready to hold 
his own, and give back as good as he got in a wordy war of 
this kind. Upon the present occasion he was too much occu- 
pied with graver interests and too impatient, to enter into the 
spirit of it. 

I say, Handino,’’ he called out to a young man who was 
alone in a handsome carriage, “just tell jmur man to let me 
pass, there is a good fellow ! I am really in a hurry, on 
business of importance. I will tell you, when I see you.” 

The Conte Ferdinando Villamarina, thus appealed to, lazily 
called out to his coachman to let Signore Brancacci pass, sa}’^- 
ing to the latter as he did so, “ not that I believe a word about 
your business being of any greater importance than your dinner 
at the avuncular table. It is true, you will need a long time 
washing ! Cut along with you ! ” 

Carlo having thus by favor avoided losing more than a 
quarter of an hour, drove directly to the Murate ; — to learn 
there that Giulio Malatesta had left the prison an hour previ- 
ous, having been liberated by an order from the minister of 
state. 

Getting once more, therefore, into his dust-begrimed shan- 
drydan, Carlo drove to the palazzo in the Via Larga, where 
he was in time to catch his uncle before he went out to dinner. 

“So you have succeeded I find ! I have just been to the 
Murate and found that the bu’d had flown. It is so good of 
you to have lost no time! Was there any difficulty about 
it ? ” 

“ Not the least in the world ! How should there be ? Of 
course directly I told the minister (a slight emphasis on the i) 


carlo’s supper. 


369 


how the matter stood, he said he was sorry for the accident, 
and sent an order to the prison instantly. I would have gone 
myself to him at the Murate, but that I was obliged to be at 
the Casein e ! 

Of course ! said his nephew with a twinkle in his ej^e. 

“ But where on earth have you been ? Doing the work of 
a street-sweeper one would say to look at jmu.” 

“Yes! I have collected a curious assortment of specimens 
of the soil of the Grand-Ducal territory. I have been half-way 
to Sesto, to a convent, where I have made another discovery — 
and such a discovery ! I never found out anything in my life 
before, and now two such discoveries in two days ! I shall olfer 
nij'self as head of the secret police department, I think!” 

“ Ay ! That is what you are specially fitted for, no doubt. 
Pray what is the new mystery ? ” 

“I have found our friend Malatesta’s mother; the lady 
W’ho you know ” 

“ You don’t mean it I I told you, you remember, that she 
would be soo-n found ! Well ! and who and what was she ? ” 

“ I know nothing about who she was. She is the Abbess of 
the Convent of Montepulciano, to which the Contessina Stella 
was sent I Now she has been brought to Florence about some 
stupid convent quarrel or other. The Archbishop’s chaplain 
told me all about it ! ” 

“ The Archbishop’s chaplain told you ! What, is he one of 
your friends too ? I suppose you and the Archbishop are old 
cronies ? ” 

“ Not exactly I You see, when the Contessina Stella wrote 
to Giulio that the Superior of her house could veiy likely 
give him some information about his mother, it was mainly 
her doing. Somehow or other it seems the old lady let out the 
secret to Stella. Most likely the Contessina began by making 
the Abbess her confidant about her love affair. She is just the 
woman for a girl to make a confidant in — a charming woman 
I should say, though she is an Abbess ! Then the truth slipped 
out, and b^^ the Superior’s own account it was mainly by the 
Signorina Stella’s persuasion that she permitted her to write 
in that mj^sterious manner to Giulio.” 

“Why not tell him the plain fact at once?” asked the 
Marchese Florirnond. 

“ Well, I think I can understand why,” replied Carlo, “ but 
then I have talked to her and j’ou have not. She was afraid 

23 


870 


carlo’s supper. 


— afraid of doing more harm than good in the world by the 
discovery — afraid, poor soul, that when he knew her position, 
he might repent having found her — afraid of everything, as a 
poor nervous woman, first half-killed with- trouble, and then 
shut up in a cloister for twent}^ years may well be ! ’’ 

And how did you get the truth from her ? inquired the 
Marchese. 

“ Well ! upon my word I hardly know ! She saw I was a 
near friend to Giulio ; and then she did not know what to do 
and caught at any help, as people will when they are between 
hawk and buzzard ; said that I should consider whether it 
was best to tell him or keep it to myself!” 

But did you tell her your secret ? ” asked his uncle. 

Not a word I I was on the point of doing so ! It was as 
much as I could do to refrain from letting it all out. But I 
thought it was not fair to Giulio to do so. I thought he ought 
to tell her himself. I had, of course, no permission to tell 
anything.” 

“ Of course not ! he could not guess that you were going to 
see his mother,” remarked the Marchese. 

I thought it best, however, to say nothing ; and I am glad 
I refrained, speciallj'^ as he is now at liberty and may go him- 
self. I mean to do the same with regard tp her. 1 will leave 
her to tell her secret herself.” 

“ What shall you tell him as the result of your visit, 
then?” 

That it is perfectly true that the Abbess knows his mother, 
and can at once bring him and her together — that he has 
nothing to do but to go to her and receive the information she 
has to give.” 

It will be a queer meeting between -them ! And when is 
it to come off ? ” 

“ The sooner the better, of course ! When I found that he 
was no longer at the Murate, I hurried here on the chance of 
catching you before you w’ent out to dinner. Now I must go 
and look for him. I shall probably find him, or, at all events, 
hear of him at the Palraieri’s. I shall just have a wash and 
be off directly! By Jupiter! I never had so much to do 
before in my life. I shall begin to think I am quite a man 
of business. It strikes me this sort of thing must be capital 
training for being a prime minister. I am beginning to feel 
quite a capable man 1 ” 


carlo’s supper. 


371 


*^What a disagreeable shock siicb a change must occasion 
you ! And what do you mean to propose to Signor Giulio? ” 

“ That we should go out to the convent where his mother is 
the first thing to-morrow morning, to be sure ! The chaplain 
gave me an order which renders it unnecessary to ask for a 
fresh one.’’ 

“ Were 3^11 able to see her alone ? ” 

“ No ! that would be against all rule, it seems. There was 
an old woman, one of the nuns, in the room to play propriety ; 
but she sta3’ed at the farther end of it and went to sleep over 
her beads, so it came to the same thing.” 

And now what is to be said, or is anything to be said, to 
the Canonico Adalberto ? ” 

Ay ! that is the question!” replied Carlo, thou ghtfull}’. 

To-morrow is the first of June. Have you been able to as- 
certain when the Contessina is to start for her journey ? ” 

’ ‘‘ Yes ! The Contessa said that she could not start till the 
morning of the second.” 

“ That is well ! It would never do to let her be sent off to 
that horrid place on the other side of the Apennines. As it is, 
we shall have time enough. I think this will be the best plan. 
I will take Giulio out to the convent the first thing in the 
morning. We can be back here by — say mi d-d aj’’ — or one 
o’clock at the latest. Suppose you were to see the Canonico 
in the course of the morning, tell him how the land lies, and 
make an appointment for an interview between him and Giulio 
at any hour of the afternoon he likes. I will tell him that we 
have so arranged, and if he does not approve I will take care 
that you know it in the morning. If you hear nothing to the 
contrary, let it stand that you are to see the Canonico and make 
an appointment for Giulio to see him to-morrow afternoon. 
Perhaps it would be as well for you to be present ; or, at all 
events to present him to the Canonico.” 

Yes 1 I think that would be the proper thing to do, since 
it was as my guest that he first was introduced into the Pa- 
lazzo Altamari,” said the Marchese Florimond, who then ad- 
verted to that circumstance for the first time. 

“ Very well, then. Will you be at home here from twelve 
till one to-morrow. I will bring Giulio here, and we can go 
together to the Canonico.” 

“ Very good ! let it be so settled. And now what about the 
Contessa ? What is to be said to her ? ” asked the Marchese, 


372 


carlo’s supper. 


in a tone wliich seemed to say that that \yas the most important 
part of the matter. 

“Perhaps it will be best to say nothing till after the inter- 
view with the Signor Canonico. Besides, I think I deserve to 
have my share of the pleasure of telling our news to the Cou- 
tessa Zenohia ! ” 

To have his share of the ficn, Carlo would have said if he 
had been speaking to anybodj' else but his respected uncle. 
But it was not safe joking with the Marchese Florimond on 
that subject. One does not jest about the gout with a martyr 
to that malady. 

“ Yes ! yes ! that is all fair. You know you are a favorite 
with the Contessa. But I think we ought not to delay telling 
her longer than to-morrow evening.’’ 

“ No ! I think we might do so to-morrow evening. In fact 
we must necessarily do so, if the Contessina Stella’s journey, 
which now stands fixed for the next daj’’, is to be set aside. 
Besides, of course there will be no reason or possibilit}^ for fur- 
ther dela}’’ when the Signor Canonico shall have been informed 
of the whole matter.” 

“ Now you are going to look up Giulio ? But what will you 
do about dinner ? Diavolo / A man must dine, even if he is 
a prime minister or head of the secret police.” 

“ Oh ! I’ll get a mouthful at the hottegone as I pass ! ” said 
Carlo. “ You are off I suppose ! I shall start in two minutes, 
as soon as 1 have got rid of a little of this dust. I won’t for- 
get to let you know if Giulio makes any objection to our ar- 
rangement. If not, you know, you fix the meeting with the 
Canonico, and wait for us here from twelve to one to-morrow.” 

“ I understand ! figliuolo mio ! ” 

“ A rivederci, carissinio ZioP 

A few minutes afterwards Carlo was once more en route 
towards the house near the Porta Pomana, at which he arriv- 
ed just after Giulio and Binaldo had gone out together. The 
former had, as he supposed, betaken himself thither immediately 
on his liberation from the Murate ; and had passed the remain- 
ing hours of the afternoon in talking over his recent adventure 
and the history of his stay at Bologna, and the events subse- 
quently resulting from it, with all the friends assembled there; 
— old Signora Palmieri, her daughter Teresa, the Professor, 
and Rinaldo and his wife. There was of course much to be 
said between him and the Professor. He would willingly also 


carlo’s supper. 


373 


have remained talking for hours with Teresa Palmieri, with 
whom he then made acquaintance for the first time ; because 
she talked to him of Stella, and he was never weary of listen- 
ing to all the thousand little remembrances of her convent 
days, which Teresa fished out of her memory for his benefit. 
Ilinaldo would not allow liim to remain quietly in the house 
after the little party had dined together. It would have been 
too contrary to the habits of Italian men to do so. The Pro- 
fessor indeed, ensconcing himself in an arm-chair with a book, 
contented himself with remaining at home with the ladies as 
an Englishman might have done. But the other two went 
out to a cafe, intending to go thence to a theatre. 

Fortunately La Signora Francesca was able to tell Bran- 
cacci the name of the cafe her husband was in the habit of 
frequenting. It was one in the Mercato ISTiiovo, known at 
that time as a resort of liberals ; — and one which most of the 
men, with whom Brancacci habituallj^’ lived, would not have 
liked, whether on account of its political or its non-fashionable 
character, to be seen in. Brancacci, however, cared little for 
such considerations ; and hurrying off, as directed, found the 
two friends sitting over their little cups of black coffee at a 
ricket}’" marble-topped table in one corner of the large com- 
fortless-looking room. 

Giulio Malatesta and Pinaldo Palmieri had their heads very 
close together, and w^ere talking so intently that they did not 
observe Brancacci till, coming up to the table at which they 
were sitting, he cried out: 

“ At last Pve hunted jmu down ! They could not keep you 
then even at the Murate,” he added, dropping his voice, and 
drawing a little three-legged stool, so as to sit down close to 
his friends, “ till I came back to look for you.^^ 

“ That is hardl}’’ a place you would expect me to wait for 
you in, longer than I could help it,’’ returned Giulio laughing. 
‘‘ Thanks to your good kind uncle I got my discharge, as 
Saint Paul got his ! If I had not been in a great hurry to be 
free, I should have been tempted to answer as he did. How- 
ever, here I am, a free man once more ! ” 

“ To think of your never telling any of us a word. Signor 
Carlo, of all the wonderful news our friend Giulio has been 
giving us !” said Binaldo. 

“ Ho ! I thought it fair to leave him to do that for liimself. 
I have been equally discreet in other quarters. Hot a soul 
knows anything of the matter yet, except my uncle ! ” 


8T4 


carlo’s supper. 


Thanks ! ray dear fellow ! said Giulio, stretching out his 
hand to Branca^i. ‘‘I do not know what I should have done, 
if I had not found so good a friend at need as yourself.’’ 

“ Such a statesman at need ! such an ambassador — such a 
prime minister at need ! I had no conception before, what a 
capable and invaluable man I am. You don’t know half my 
doings yet. Don’t you ask me the result of my perquisitions, 
my diplomacy, my conferences, my speeches, my reticences, 
ni}’’ noddings of the head, and my winkings of the eye ? Fer 
Bacco ! I have my news to tell as well as you ! ” 

You don’t mean that you have found out the Superior of 
the convent of Santa Filomena for me ? ” said Giulio. 

Altro ! found out, indeed ! I knocked up the Archbishop 
at midnight, and clapping a pistol to his right ear, told him 
that he had only two minutes and a half to live, if he did not 
instantly tell me where he had hidden the Abbess of Santa 
Filomena. The wretched man at first pretended that she was 
in the dungeons of the Inquisition of Kome. When I told 
him, that in that case I would request my friend the Pope to 
place her immediately at my disposition, and to excommuni- 
cate himself, he confessed that she was secreted in a subter- 
ranean vault on the top of the Apennines. I instantly com- 
pelled him to sign an order for my admission to that fearful 
prison-house ; 1 rode day and night for sixteen weeks till X 
got there ; I saw the captive ! I administered spiritual consol- 
ation to her ; I heard her wondrous tale ! — And now don’t you 
want to to know what it was ? ” 

Are you sure you have not been administering spiritual 
consolation to yourself out of a flask of Chianti ? ” said Giu- 
lio, laughing. 

^‘Ungrateful! I have not even administered to myself a 
morsel of dinner this blessed day. Oh, waiter ! bring me a 
couple of buttered eggs, bread, and half a flask. Let the 
eggs be fresh, and the wine not, do you hear I If I have 
spoken, gentlemen, in any degree inconsistently with the re- 
served gravity and discreet wisdom which are generally allow- 
ed throughout Europe to be my distinguishing characteristics, 
attribute it, I pray you, to light-headedness caused by inani- 
tion.” 

“ In sober seriousness, my dear fellow, do you really mean 
that you have seen this Abbess ? ” said Giulio. 

“ Nothing can be more sober and more serious than my 


carlo’s supper. 


375 


meaning, except the fact that I really am fainting for a 
mouthful of food ! ” 

“ You have been, then, racing about all day for me ! Well ! 
3'ou shall swallow your mouthful before I ask you to tell your 
news. I suppose there is little to tell.'^ 

Ah ! that’s why you are so patient. You would not give 
me leave to eat a crumb or drink a drop, if jmu knew what I 
had to tell ! ” 

Did 3^011 serve an apprenticeship as turncock to Tantalus, 
by any chance, Signor Carlo ? ” asked Rinaldo. 

Let him eat his morsel in peace, and then he will enlight- 
en us,” said Giulio ; and don’t think, my dear fellow,” he 
added to Carlo, “ either that I am not anxious for your report, 
or not very grateful to jmu for the trouble jmu have taken to 
get it. Only, I have never had any great expectation that 
this Abbess would be able to give me anj’’ very valuable help. 
If she had known anything definite, she would have spoken 
more clearly in the first instance. 1 was determined, however, 
not to thrown the slightest chance away.” 

“ There ! ” said Carlo, as he used the last fragment of his 
little loaf — a semely the Tuscans call it — to sop up, sponge- 
wise, the last particles of the eggs from the little red earthen 
saucer in which they were served hissing hot from the fire, 
and popping the morsel into his mouth, washed it down with 
the last of the half-flask of Chianti; “there! now I once 
again feel myself a match for Talle^^rand ! I was below the 
mark when Starving. Signor Giulio Malatesta, I purpose that 
your lady mother shall stand bj' the altar at j^our marriage 
with the Contessina Stella Altainari ! ” 

The two ^mung men looked at each other, and Malatesta 
said gravely, “ Come now. Carlo ! be in earnest for once in 
your life, there is a dear good fellow ! Lemember, this is no 
laughing matter to me! ” 

“Nor to me, my dear old friend, believe me!” returned 
Carlo, in a more serious tone. But I moan wh.at I sa^". If 
3mur mother does not stand 1)3" at your wedding before the 
first flask of this 3"ear’s wine is made in Tuscany — call me a 
sbirro ! ” 

“ You reall3^ have some certain information, then. Carlo 
mio ?” said Giulio, with a bright gleam in his e3"e. 

“ Listen ! Briefly and soberly the matter stands thus. 
The Abbess of Santa Filomena is now in a convent some 


876 


carlo’s supper. 


three miles out towards Sesto. Tliere, by means of an order 
froDi the Archbishop, I have this daj^ seen her. I had the 
honor of a long conversation with her. She not only knows 
with certainty where your mother now is, but is able to bring 
you at once to speech with her. The order I have will suffice 
to obtain you an interview with the Abbess ; and I purpose 
accompanying you to the convent where she is the first thing 
to-morrow morning. I may add, my dear fellow, that I have 
very good reason to believe that the mother you will find is 
one in all respects with whom you will be delighted, and of 
whom jmu may be proud ! There ! is that plain, methodical, 
and prosaic enough ? ” 

My dear fellow ! how can I ever thank you enough ! ’’ 
cried Giulio. 

“ Well then, that is settled. You will go out with me to- 
morrow morning? We had better start soon after eight.’’ 

“ Will I not ? I will be at your door in the Via Larga by 
eight.” 

And bring a fiacre with you ! I did not say a word to 
the Abbess about your other news.” 

No ! of course not ! why should you? It can be nothing 
to her, you know,” said Giulio. ^ 

“ Well ! I felt tempted to do so all the same,” said Carlo ; 
“ but I refrained. Perhaps jmu will feel tempted to tell it to 
her in return for her information, when you see her. We 
shall see. I have taken it upon me to make another engage- 
ment for you, after our return from the convent ; and if jmu 
do not approve of it, I must tell my uncle to-night. It is to 
call on his reverence the Canonico Altamari. My uncle pro- 
poses to present you to him.” 

“ It is very kind of him ; and as it has to be done, it is per- 
haps as well to do it at once.” 

^'‘Diamine! Pecollect that there will be no seeing some- 
body else till you have seen him, and had it all out.” 

True ! ” said Giulio, thoughtfull3^ 

“ AVe look to your interview with the Canon to-morrow 
afternoon, to prevent the starting of that somebody else to 
Heaven knows \yhere the next day ! ” 

“ God grant that it may prevent it ! ” said Giulio, with a 
great sigh. 

“Never fear! / know how the land lies! Have 7 not told 
you that you shall be married before the new wine is made ? 
Where do you sleep to-night ? ” 


MOTHER AND- SON. 


877 


At tlie inn behind the palazzo here, where I went on my 
arrival. The good people could not imagine what had become 
of me ! ” 

Now ! shall we go to the Pergola ? ” said Einaldo. 

‘‘No! let us go to the Teatro Nuovo,” answered Carlo. 
“If we go to the Pergola, I shall have to go to half a dozen 
boxes, and be asked all sorts of questions. Come along ! 
What are they giving at the Teatro Nuovo ? ’’ 

It did not make much difference to the young men what the 
performance was; and most people except Italians would have 
thought it more convenient to talk over all they had to say to 
each other anywhere else than standing with their hats on 
among a crowd of other loiterers at the back of the pit of the 
theatre. But they were Italians, and acted accordingly. 


CHAPTER V. 

MOTHER AND SON. 

Punctually at eight o’clock the next morning Giulio was 
at the door of the Palazzo Brancacci, in the Via Larga, with 
a hack-carriage. In a very few minutes Carlo joined him, 
and they started on their drive towards Sesto. 

“ Yes ! there she is !” said the latter, in answer to Giulio’s 
wistful look at the Palazzo Altaraari, as they passed before 
it ; “I wonder whether she has any idea of your being in 
Plorence ! ” 

“ How should she have ? You forget how long it is since it 
has been possible for me to write to her ! ” answered Giulio, 
with a heavy sigh. 

“ No ! I know that ! But of course the Contessa Zenobia 
must have heard of ^mur arrival, and she may have let fall a 
word in the Contessina’s hearing.” 

“ Not she ! they would never let her know that I was near 
her — dear, brave, constant Stella ! ” 

“Well, well 1 we shall see before the sun sets whether they 
are inclined to let her know that you are in Plorence ! What 
a surprise for her it will be! She is thinking now of her dis- 
mal to-morrow’s journey to Palazzuolo I ” 


878 


MOTHER AND SON, 


“ Which, thanks to you, we may hope to be in time to pre- 
vent ! You have got the Archbishop’s order with you ? ” 

“ All right, old fellow ! What do you take me for ? It 
says nothing about admitting two; but we shall not find any 
difficulty, 1 dare say.” 

And then the conversation dropped, and they drove on in 
the deliciously balmy morning air in silence, till Carlo cried 
out : 

‘‘Oh ! Giulio! Are you asleep. We are about as merry as 
if we were going to a funeral.” 

“ I am but a bad companion for such a jolly dog as you, 
Carlo 77110, at the best of times,” returned Malatesta, “ and am 
worse than ever this morning. But you must make allowance 
for all that I have pressing on my mind just at present. 
Think what it is to be about to see a mother, of whom you 
know absolutely nothing, for the first time ! ” 

“Yes, I admit it is a nervous sort of thing,” replied Carlo ; 
“ but I am convinced, from what the Abbess said, that your 
discovery will not be a disagreeable one. She is herself a 
most pleasing person — a gentle, charming, lady-like manner I 
— and very handsome ! ” 

“ It matters very little to me what she is !” rejoined Giulio. 
“ I am thinking of what the other will be like.” 

“ Very true ! ” said Carlo, looking into his friend’s eyes with 
a look of queer meaning and longing to tell him — “ ver3’- true ! 
but she is a sort of person who would not imagine another 
woman to be all those things if she were not so.” 

“ Did she say all that of m}’- poor mother ? ” asked Giulio. 

“ She spoke in a manner,” replied Carlo, rather puzzled and 
hesitatingly, “ which led me to infer that she must so think 
of her. But it is no use speculating on the subject!” he 
added, fearing to be driven into further perplexities, and quite 
determined not to betray his secret. “ What is the good of 
guessing what we shall so soon see for ourselves ! ” 

“That is true!” sighed Giulio. “Are we near the 
place ? ” 

“ You see that group of cj^presses, a little above the level of 
the road, on the side of the hill yonder, with a little squat 
belfiy and a lot of white buildings close behind them ? That 
is the convent. We have to climb a little bit of steep hill out 
of the road. I can hear the little bell tinkling away for mat- 
ins, or nones, or angelus, or something, or else for the mere 
fun of the thing ! ” 


MOTHER AND SON. 879 

“ Yes ! I can hear it ! I hope the nuns won’t he at any 
service that will prevent us from seeing the Abbess.” 

“ Oh ! never fear ! If they are in the choir, she will come 
out to the Archbishop’s order ! ” 

It was about nine o’clock when they reached the convent. 
The church doors were open, as before. 

And then the same process preparatory to obtaining access 
to the interior of the monastery had to be gone through, and 
the same delays to be borne with such patience as the young 
men could muster. 

“ I think,” said Carlo, while they were waiting in the bare- 
looking whitewashed, parlatorio^^’ which seemed colder and 
barer in the morning, for thf sun-rays were not streaming 
into it — “ I think I had better vanish when I have introduced 
you to the Abbess ? ” 

“ Oh, no ! Why should you do that? There is nothing to 
be ‘Said that you don’t know. You had better staj^,” said 
Giulio. 

“No! There is nothing to be said that I don’t know!” 
replied Carlo. “Nevertheless, I think I will leave you two 
together ; — that is, if I can manage to get out ! If not, I shall 
get up a sejDarate flirtation with the old chaperone. Here they 
come ! ” 

And again the Abbess attended by the same old woman as 
on the occasion of Carlo’s previous visit, entered as before. 
The “'chaperone,” as Carlo profanely called her, took her chair 
as before, placed it immediately beside the door, as if her 
function had been to 23revent any attempt at escape on the 
part of the Abbess or her visitors, and immediately absorbed 
herself — doubtless according to orders — in the exercises of the 
rosary. 

The Abbess walked also, as before, across the wide brick 
floor to the opposite window — as before ! but an observant eye 
might have marked a diflerence in her bearing. Her step was 
slow, and her movements struck both the young men as re- 
markably dignified and elegant. But her ej^es were bent on 
the ground, veiled beneath their long soft lashes, which showed 
their silken fringe in strong contrast with the perfect paleness 
of her face. A more boldly curious glance than that of either 
of her 3 ’oung visitors might also have perceived that the folds 
of her religious dress were rising and falling over her bosom 
in a maimer indicating unmistakably that the heart beneath 


380 


MOTHER AND SON. 


that coarse serge drapery in no wise shared the tranquillity of 
her outward bearing. The eyes remained downcast during the 
whole of her passage across the room. Who can doubt that 
they had already taken in at a glance every detail and minute 
particular of the appearance of the new-comer with that un- 
failing rapidity of accurate observation which is so frequently 
a specialty of the finest female organisations. 

AVhen she had reached the spot near the window at which 
the conversation with Brancacci had taken place, and before 
she had taken a seat, Carlo advanced towards her, and, with a 
low bow which she returned by the usual benedictory move- 
ment of the fingers, but so faintly made as to suggest the idea 
that she was suffering from physical exhaustion, said: 

“ Beverend mother, this is Giulio Malatesta, whom I have 
brought to jmu in fulfilment of my promise that I would make 
the interval before he waited on you as short as possible. Let 
it please j'^our maternity to note that I have not taken it on 
myself to inform him of the facts mentioned by you to me 
3^esterday, thinking it better to leave that duty to your ma- 
ternity ; as I also thought it best that he should himself com- 
municate to you, if he shall see fit to do so, the circumstances 
which have recently produced a change in his own position.’^ 

Malatesta bowed reverently as he stood before the tall, 
straight, and slender figure of the Abbess, erect before him, 
but with her eyes still fixed on the ground ; while Carlo, after 
the above introductory speech, spoken in a tone of solemn 
seriousness that was very unusual in him, lounged across the 
room to the place where the old nun was kneeling over her 
beads, and standing before her as a man stands in front of a 
lady in a drawing-room, remarked in an easy off hand man- 
ner : 

A charming position you have here for j^our convent, 
Signora ! ” 

The old woman reared herself and glared at him with a 
mixture of terror, indignation, and astonishment, which seemed 
to deprive her for some seconds of the power of speech. 

“ The view over the valley from the terrace in front of jmur 
church is really exquisite I”- he continued, utterly unconscious 
of her dismay. 

“ Your business here is with her ! ’’ said the old woman at 
length, with harsh sternness, pointing her fore-finger as she 
spoke to the Abbess. 


MOTHER AND SON. 


881 


My part of the business is done. It is that gentleman 
who lias now to speak with the Abbess ; I may, tlierefore, have 
the pleasure of a little conversation with you!” returned 
Carlo, with undiminished good-humor. 

“ I have no permission to speak with you ! ” rejoined the 
nun, leaving Carlo to infer, if it should so please him, the 
compliment that she would be very glad to avail herself of it 
if she had ; but still speaking in the same gruff voice. 

“In that case,” said Carlo, “I think I had better go out.” 

The old woman looked perplexedly backwards and forwards 
from him to the two persons at the other end of the room, 
once or twice, and then said, again pointing with her fore- 
finger : 

“ I may not leave him here alone ! ” 

“Then, I suppose, I must tr}-" to find the waj' to the outer 
door by myself!” rejoined Carlo, taking the handle of the 
room-door .in his hand. 

“No ! Stay, I beg you. Signore ! That cannot be ! You 
cannot pass through the convent alone. “ It is not permitted ! ” 
exclaimed the old woman, becoming less laconic, in the ex- 
tremity of her alarm and perplexity. 

“ Is there no wa}", then, by which I can get out ? I shall 
burst, if I am obliged to stay here and hold m3" tongue ! ” 

Urged by the danger of this alternative, and dismaj-ed by 
the verbosit}’’ of the conversation into which she was being 
betrayed, the old woman at last said, pointing again as before : 

“ He must come, too — to the door ! — Then he ma)’- come 
back again ! ” 

“ That is a bright thought ! ” said Carlo. “ I should never 
have thought of that. Giulio,” he cried, “3"ou must please 
to come and escort me out of this wonderful place. For, it 
seems, the old ladj’’ here must not lose sight of either of us ! ” 

So Giulio accompanied his friend and the old nun, tinkling 
her warning bell as she went, to the convent door. 

“ I will wait here for 3"ou on the terrace, old fellow, till 3’’ou 
come out. I)o not be in any hurr}'^ ! An hour under the cy- 
presses with a cigar, will be pleasant enough ! ” 

Giulio, reconducted in the same manner, returned to the 
^‘pai'latorio and the nun immediatelj' resumed her position 
and her occupation close to the door. 

The Abbess was sitting by the window with her face turned 
towards it, and leaning on her hand, apparently in deep 
.^liougbt. 


382 


MOTHER AND SON. 


“ The Signorina Altamari was right, then, reverend mother, 
when slie wrote to me that it was in your power to give me 
information respecting my poor mother. For, I understand 
from my excellent friend, Signor Carlo Brancacci, that you 
have certain knowledge of her present whereabouts.” 

The Abbess did not answer for a few seconds, and then, at 
first, replied only by a bow, till she, not without difficulty 
apparentlj^, said, It is true. Signore ! I have that knowl- 
edge.” There was some feeling at her heart which prevented 
lier from using the eccleciastical formula my son,” in ad- 
dressing him. 

“ May I hope, then, that your maternity will lend your aid 
to the accomplishment of an object of which you cannot but 
approve ? ” said Malatesta, with cold courtesy. ^ 

“ Did your ftiend mention to you,” asked the Abbess, 
speaking in a slow, staccato manner, as tbough her throat 
were drj^, and the words came from it with difficulty — “ Did 
your friend mention to you the reasons that had suggested 
themselves to me for doubting whether I could approve the 
object you allude to ? ” 

“No, indeed ! reverend mother; I am at a loss to conceive 
what reasons can possibly have so suggested themselves to 
you,” replied Giulio, with surprise. 

“ The relationship between a mother and son,” continued 
the Abbess, speaking with the same difficulty, and, as it were, 
reluctance as before, “ like that of husband and wife, may be 
a source of infinite blessing and happiness to both — or it may 
be the reverse. Does your experience of the world, short as 
it may be, my son ” (she dropped the two last words so trem- 
ulously, and, as it w^ere, breathlessly, that they were barely 
audible) ; “ does your experience of the world furnish 3mur 
memorj^ with no examples of the latter miserj^ ? Have jmu 
seen no cases in which it were better for a son never to have 
known a mother ; — in which he has had to blush for a mother, 
who, in bearing him, inflicted the mark of an indelible dis- 
grace ; — in which all those holy and exquisite affections that 
should made the happiness of such a tie, have been turned to 
gall and bitterness ; — in which,” she continued, raising her 
voice to a tone in which a practised ear might have detected 
the accent of sharp anguish, “ the one onh^ proof of a mother’s 
love that a mother could give, would have been, if happily she 
were unknown, to heedfully remain so ; — if unhappil}’’ still 
living, to be at least dead to him I ” 


MOTHER AND SON. 


883 


Giulio had become very pale while the Abbess was speaking. 
He clasped his hands tightly together as he stood rigidl}^ in 
front of her, looking at her with his great dark ej’^es as if he 
would read the secret she seemed so reluctantly to part with in 
her heart, and the drops of perspiration gathered on his brow. 

“ Reverend mother,’’ he said, speaking slowly but firmly, 
‘‘ your words seem intended to prepare me for a heavy blow. 
They can hardly be meant to save me from it. You can 
scarcely deem me guilty of the cowardice of shrinking from 
sacred duties, even if they must bring only pain and not pleas- 
ure with them, by voluntarily remaining in ignorance of what 
I have come here to learn. 

Nay, my son ! The volition in the matter is still with me. 
Should I deem it better, wiser, more for your welfare and hap- 
piness, not to make this discover}^ to you, it will be my — my 
,bounden duty to remain silent.” 

“I cannot think,” returned Giulio, keeping his position, 
standing immediately’’ in front of her, and looking down on her 
with earnest eyes while he spoke with extreme gravit}’^ ; ‘‘ I 
cannot think that your maternity would, under any circum- 
stances, feel yourself justified in adopting such a course. I 
trust you will pardon me for using language hardly becoming 
from me to one in jmur position, and let my paramount inter- 
est in this question be my excuse. I cannot, I repeat, con- 
ceive that on mature reflection 3’ou will find it consistent with 
ymur duty to keep from me the knowledge which you have 
admitted you possess, respecting my unhappy and foully- 
wronged mother. The manner in which you have spoken pre- 
pares me, as I must suppose it was intended to do, for the shock 
and great pain of finding in ni}^ unhappy mother — not such an 
one as a son would wish to find. But let her position, quali- 
ties, and conduct, be what they may, my determination, nay, 
my ardent desire in the matter, would remain the same. 
Think, reverend mother — or rather it is for me to think — of 
all the wrongs, the woes, the injustice, the sufferings, which 
that poor mother has had to struggle with. If her unhappy 
position, and the cruel wrong which was done her, — worse 
wrong than ymur maternity can guess ! — have caused her to 
fall farther, and ever farther from the standard of duty and 
rectitude, and a blameless life, so much the more is it ray duty, 
as it is my dearest wish, to repair as far as may be the injus- 
tice which has been done her ; to pour balm into the heart- 


884 


MOTHER AND SON. 


wounds that have exposed her to dangers to which happier 
women are strangers ; to open to her a haven of refuge and 
protection which she has never known ; and to soothe her 
heart with a love of whicli slie has been defrauded.” 

The measured and grave tone in which Giulio had begun to 
speak had gradually been changed, as his heart swelled with 
the emotions which his words produced ; and he now hurried 
on, pouring out the phrases with all that eloquence of accent 
and intonation with which the excitable southern nature, when 
warmed by strong feeling, so readily expresses itself: 

“You know not, reverend mother, you cannot know, how 
heart yearns to this poor lonel^’^-hearted mother, defrauded 
of all her share of love ! how I long to tell her that the child 
of her bosom, the child of her sorrow and shame, has come to 
her, to comfort, to atone, and to love her, and to wipe out the 
sorrow and shame ! Give me my mother ! I demand her of 
you ! You have no right to keep her from me ! ” 

“ My son ! mj^ son ! ” sobbed rather than said the Abbess, 
and the words forcing themselves convulsively from her bosom, 
seemed laden with the weight of all the contending emotions 
which were tearing it. She held out her two open hands a 
little in front of her — only a little, as if not daring to claim 
the embrace, which she was so tremblingly longing to receive. 

Giulio, too much absorbed by the strength of his own emo- 
tion to mark the manifestations of hers, conceived her words 
to be but the mode of address proper to her ecclesiastical rank. 

“If I have spoken too boldl}^,” he said, “remember that it 
is the heart of a son pleading for the mother that bore him ! ” 

“ My son ! my son ! ” reiterated the now violently sobbing 
woman, looking up with streaming ej’es into his face, and ex- 
tending her hands a little, but still timidly and hesitatingly, 
towards him. 

“ What !” cried Giulio, bending forwards, and staring with 
dilated eyes, still doubtful whether he at last understood her 
aright. “AVhat?” 

The poor mother had no further eloquence at command. 
Looking up at him, as he stood transfixed with the greatness 
of his astonishment, and hardly yet realising the truth of what 
he had heard, she lifted her eyes with a piteous pleading in 
them to his face, and pointing with the fingers of one hand to 
her bosom, nodded with her head, as she sobbed out the one 
word, “ Giulio ! ” 


MOTHER AND SON. 


385 


Then the whole truth burst in all its fullness upon him. 

For an instant he stood almost stunned by the violence of 
all tlie varied emotions which ruslied tumultuously over his 
heart. Then throwing himself on his knees before her, as she 
sat, he flung his arms around her, while she clasped his head 
to her heart, and let her cheek fall upon his brow. 

The nun at the farther end of the room must have happily 
fallen into a fast slumber over her beads, for she stirred not, 
and ‘‘ made no sign ” of cross or other, as she most assuredly 
would have done in some sort, had she been aware of the scene 
that was being enacted in her presence. 

It was some little time before either the mother or the son 
could speak connected words ; nor did Giulio move, till he felt 
the warm tears from his mother’s e3^es trickling silently' on his 
forehead. Then drawing back his head, and taking her two 
hands in his, but without rising from his knees, he said: 

“ Oh mother ! mother ! that sweet word ! mother, how could 
jmu — how could you hesitate and hold back the precious secret 
you had to tell me ! ” 

“ Have I done right, then, my Giulio ! mj’- own bo}^ ! How 
can I forgive mj^self for — for — for presenting to you a nun, an 
un wedded nun, as your mother, my poor injured boy ! ” 

“ Mother ! mother ! Do not speak in that wa\’’ ! It is all a 
delusion, — a mistake, — a cheat ! — and were it otherwise ” 

“It was she, — she whom you love, my Giulio, and who loves 
you with, oh ! what a love! what a noble all-trusting love! — 
it was she, Giulio, wdio first insisted that jmur unfortunate 
mother should be made known to jmu ! It was her wish, 
Giulio!’’ 

“Dear generous-hearted noble darling!” cried Giulio, as 
the tears, — proud, sweet tears! gathered in his eyes; “of 
course she insisted ! Did she not give me her love, knowing — 
as I was when she first saw me ! Ah ! mother ! when jmu 
know Stella as I know her! What a blessed chance it was 
that brought you together ! ” 

“A blessing I shall never cease to be thankful for! If 
only — if — ” 

There was something very touching in tlie tremulous sen- 
sitive shrinking of the poor mother from the dread that her 
position might be felt as a social injury to her son ; — a dread 
that scarcely dared to permit itself to be reassured, lest he 
might feel that.it had been better for him to have remained 

24 


386 


MOTHER AND SON. 


in ignorance of his mother, than to have found such an one f 
— a dread above all lest it should injure him in the matter of 
his love ! 

“She knew all, Giulio!” she continued, eagerlj^ pleading, 
“ all, all my unhappy history ! And — and — and it did not 
lessen her devotion to you, or her desire, that you should find 
jmur mother — such as she is ! ’’ 

“ Such as she is ! ” exclaimed he, drawing back his head, 
and throwing it up proudly, while he looked at her with infi- 
nite tenderness in his eyes ; — “ such as she is ! Oh ! mother, 
how can you speak in such a manner ! What son would not 
be proud of such a mother ? 

For an instant there was a gleam of gratified affection in her 
eyes, as he spoke ; but in the next moment she dropped the 
long lashes over them, and bent her head, as she said : 

“ Alas ! there is no cancelling the disgrace with which the 
world marks such motherhood as mine, my son ; — no remedy 
for the injury which such a mother inflicts upon her child ! 

“ It is all an error, and a cheat, I tell you, mother dear ; 
and the cheat has been found out at last ! ” he cried, still 
kneeling at her knee, and holding her hands in his. “ What 
a dolt I am not to have already made you understand, and set 
that dear long-aching heart at rest. Have I not told jmu — did 
not Brancacci tell you — that all that was changed ? ” 

“ Your friend, he that was here just now, — he loves you 
well, too, my Giulio ! they all love you ! — told me that changes 
in jmur position made it more desirable than ever for you to 
discover your mother. But he said nothing, — he refused to 
say anything to explain his meaning.” 

“ He thought, good kind-hearted fellow as he is, that he 
would leave to me the pleasure of telling you my tidings. But 
he did not guess. I’ll be bound, that I should be so maladroit 
as to keep them so long untold. This, it is then, my own’ 
mother, in a word. You are the lawfull3^-wedded wife — the 
only wife of the March ese Cesare Malatesta, my father ; and 
I am his only lawful son and heir ! ” 

“Ah no! Giulio, Giulio, there is some terrible mistake! 
Here is the first office I have to perform for jmu, m3’ poor boj^ ! 
It is I who have to trample out the last spark of 3’our hope ! 
Disappointment is the first thing I bring with me. Do not 
delude yourself, my poor Giulio ! The marriage which I made 
clandestinely with your father in Bologna was pronounced by 


M(/THER AND SON. 


887 


the tribunals there to he informal and of no effect. I had 
friends there, my son, who would have taken care that it should 
have been shown to be otherwise bad there been any possibil- 
it}" of doing so ! ” 

My own darling mother ! It is as I tell you ! Tliere is no 
mistake ! I know all about it ; and if you will hear me pa- 
tiently I will soon show you how all the errors fell out. You 
do not bring me disappointment. On the contrary", it is I who 
bring you an unhoped-for deliverance from much sorrow ! 
Listen to me now, rny own mother. Do you know why the 
marriage at Bologna between you and my father was pro- 
nounced invalid ? ” 

“ Assuredly I know, Giulio mio / The law requires that a 
marriage so made should be witnessed by two persons of legal 
age. One of the witnesses of my marriage was not of legal 
age. The marriage, therefore, was not made according to the 
requisite conditions, and W’as pronounced accordingly to be null 
and void ! ” 

“ Exactly so ! The witness, who turned out to be no witness, 
because he was under age, was ” 

“ Pietro Varani ; the son of my poor mother’s nearest neigh- 
bor.” 

^‘Precisely so! Pietro Varani, now Professor of Materia 
Medica in the University of Pisa, and my very good and val- 
ued friend.” 

“No ! jmu don’t say so ! Poor Pietro ! Ah me ! How the 
past days come back to me ! Yes I poor Pietro was a contem- 
porary and fellow-student of mj^ husb Alas! mj'- Giulio, 

of him whom I believed to be my husband, besides being our 
friend and nearest neighbor — and, as such, was chosen one of 
the witnesses. Unhappily he was not of legal age.” 

“ Pietro Varani in the September of the year 1828 was of 
legal age.” 

“ Nay, Giulio mio ; my son, my son, I fear me you are lean- 
ing on a reed. Poor Pietro knew perfectly well that he was 
under age ! but was not aware that the law required such a 
condition. If any doubt could have existed it was set at rest 
by the entry of his matriculation in the University books, and, 
I believe, even by his baptismal certificate.” 

“ Yes ! also, mother dear, as you say, bj^ his baptismal cer- 
tificate. But that certificate, on wdiich the other statements 
of his age w^ere based, had been fraudulently altered, showing 
him to be one year younger than he really was ! ” 


888 


MOTHER AND SON. 


“ Gracious Heaven ! by whom and for what purpose ? Hot 
by niy liusband? ” almost shrieked the Abbess. 

“ No ! assuredly not by my father ! Kemember that the 
fraud had been perpetrated previously to Pietro Varan i’s ad- 
mission to the University, inasmuch as the erroneous statement 
was repeated in the matriculation books.’’ 

“ By whom then ? ” asked the Abbess, lost in astonishment. 

By Marta Yarani, the mother of Pietro,” answered Giulio, 
nodding his head gravely, and looking solemnly into his 
mother’s face. 

‘‘ Wh}^ was this cruel, this wicked wrong done ? What could 
have been that strange old woman’s motive? ” 

“ Her motive, my mother, was to save her son from that 
stigma which it was so bitter a sorrow to jmu to believe that 
you had inflicted on your son. Pietro Yarani was born in the 
south of Prance, before his mother was married to his father. 
AYhen they were about to return to Bologna, where she was 
well known and held in good repute, and where her son would 
have to take his civil status, and make his career, Marta Yar- 
ani determined to represent his birth to have occurred one 
3’ear later than it really did, and altered the French certificate 
of his birth accordingly.” 

Merciful Heaven ! And for this I was condemned ” 

‘‘Even so, my mother! You were condemned, and your son 
was condemed to suffer all that unjustly, which Marta Yarani 
and her son ought to have suffered justly.” 

“ I can see now the cruel, hard old woman as she looked — ” 
“ Nevertheless, mother, let us understand rightly the ex- 
tent of the crime committed against you — against us — by that 
cruel and hard old woman — for it cannot be denied that such 
she was. Of course you perceive that the fraud orignall}^ per- 
petrated by her was intended to benefit herself and her son, 
without any injury to others. I do not doubt that if it had 
been in her power to prevent the fatalitj’’ which led to the choice 
of Pietro Yarani as a witness to a marriage which was fatally 
invalidated by the falsehood regarding his age, she would have 
done so. Her fault lay in this — that ^vhen the mischief had 
been done, she held her peace and spoke no word to prevent 
the fatal consequences from following. She could not bring 
herself to save you at the cost of exposing her own fraud and 
forfeiting the advantages which she had gained by a twenty 
years’ persistence in it.” 


MOTHER AND SON. 


889 


It was very wicked and very cruel ! ” said the Abbess with 
a deep sigh. 

‘‘It ivas very wicked and very cruel,” resumed her son; 
“but in this also we must be just, my mother, in the appor- 
tionment of blame — painful as it is to be so, we must remember 
that but for the much worse treacherj’’ of another, the in- 

validity of the marriage before the Archbishop of Bologna, 
would have been a matter of comparatively small moment. 
All that was needed when the nullity of that ceremony was 
discovered, was to repeat it in a proper and binding manner. 
Marta Varani was, in the first instance — that is to say, as soon 
as the nullity of the marriage was declared — justified in say- 
ing to herself that forthwith to confess her fraud in the mat- 
ter of the certificate of her son’s birth, would have been to in- 
jure herself verj^ seriously for no other purpose than to save 
you from a small inconvenience. She was justified in presuming 
that the error in the matter would have been at once satisfac- 
toril}'" rectified, as it easily might have been. Then, when the 

fatal news of the Marchese Malatesta’s marriage with the 

Contessa Cecilia Sampieri came to Bologna, right, justice, every 
noble sentiment demanded that the truth should be declared. 
But it had then become more difficult and more painful to do 
so ; and Marta Varani had neither sufficient love of right, nor 
sufficient care for you to brave the troubles that lay in the 
way of acting conscientiously. She quieted her conscience, 
moreover, with the consideration that it was too late to prevent 
misery and distress in one quarter or another. If your mar- 
riage were made good, what became of that of the noble lady 
the Contessa Cecilia Sampieri?” 

“ What does become of that marriage ? ” asked the Abbess, 
looking up in sudden alarm. 

“ Assuredl}'’ the nullity of that marriage follows from the 
eslalfiishment of yours. Truly the train of evils growing out 
of that first fraud in the matter of Pietro Varan i’s real age is 
a long one. You see now, my mother, the real amount of 
old Marta Varani’s cruelty and wickedness. It was bad, but 

infinitely less so than that of another. Moreover, the old 

woman’s repentance was, as we must suppose, sincere. She 
did what she could to remedy the injustice which had been 
done on her death bed ; for she is dead. She died a few months 
since — placing in my hands, before her death, the means of es- 
tablishing her son’s real age, and, consequently, the validity of 


890 


MOTHER AND SON. 


your marriage. I need hardly tell you, mother dear, that from 
first to last in this sad story Pietro Varani — Professor Varani 
as I ought to call him — has not only been wholly blameless, 
but has felt and acted as a true-hearted honorable man, and a 
sincerely-attached friend.” 

“Poor Pietro Varani! Yes! he was that!” said the Ab- 
bess, with a sigh as from some feeling, or some far away mem- 
ory of some feeling, a slight blush overspread her pale and 
delicate cheek. 

“ I think,” pursued Giulio, in a graver and sadder tone, 
“ that I ought not to conceal from you, my mother, that it 
was the firm persuasion of the old woman, Marta Varani, 
that the Marchese Cesare Malatesta purposely selected her son 
as a witness to the pretended marriage, with the planned and 
premeditated intention that it should be declared invalid. 
God knows if it was so ! ” 

“ Oh ! no, no! not that!” cried the Abbess, looking up at 
Giulio, with a face as pale as death, and trembling as if she 
had received a new and unexpected wound. “Not that! — 

He yielded to temptation and coercion afterwards ; but 

not that — not that ! He did love once — No ! I cannot be- 
lieve that. Do not compel me to believe that ! ” 

Curious to mark how even yet the w'oman’s heart clung, 
after all that had come and gone, to the notion that once — 
some quarter of a century ago ! — she had been truly loved ! 

“ God knows the truth ! ” returned her son, solemnly. “I 
have no reason whatever for thinking the old woman’s suspi* 
cion a just one ! Possibly the desire to make or to feel her 
share in the mischief which had been done as light as possi- 
ble, biased her towards an unfairly evil opinion of him, on 
whom fell all that portion of the blame that did not fall on 
her.” 

“ Yes ! Yes ! she judged him with cruel injustice in that 
respect ! ” returned the woman who had loved him so well ; 
“but about that second marriage, Giulio mio? I feel 
stunned by the suddenness of all jmu have told me, and my 
head seems whirling round. What will happen about that 
marriage — and the unhappy woman — mother too, she also ! ” 

“What will happen — has happened rather — there can be 
no doubt. That marriage at Permo was no marriage. The 
Contessa Cecilia Sampieri was no wife — was not, for, happily 
for her, she has been dead for many years — and the son she 


MOTHER AND SON. 


391 


has left, and who is now held to be the Marchese Alfonso 
Malatesta, has no right to that title.’^ 

“It is very dreadful ! said the Abbess, placing her band, 
as she spoke, over her eyes. 

“ It is very dreadful ; ” returned her son ; “ but it would 
have been much more so, that you, my mother, should have 
continued to suffer unmerited obloquy and injustice !” 

“ It is very, very sweet — you cannot guess how sweet, my 
Giulio, to have become suddenly rich in a son, and a son’s 
love ! It is, oh ! so sweet ! to know that liis inheritance from 
his mother is not one of shame and disgrace. But for the 
rest — what change can be any change for me ! ” 

“Kespecting all that, my own mother, there will be much 
to be said. We must talk together at much greater length 
than we can do now. There is that poor dear, best of good 
fellows. Carlo, waiting outside for me ! ” 

“ You don’t know how he spoke of you to me yesterda}’’, my 
Giulio ! with what delicacy and true good feeling he did his 
mission, and what comfort he gave me ! ” 

“You don’t know how good and kind a friend he has been 
to me, when — when I was not the Marchese Giulio Malates- 
ta ! ” said Giulio, putting tliose words together for the first 
time. 

“ God bless him ! ” ejaculated the Abbess, ferventl3^ 

“And there is another subject, dearest mother, to be talked 
over between us,” said Giulio, blushing. 

“Do you think it has been absent from my mind, Giulio 
mio / You forget that there is less to be said on that subject 
than might have been. Though I doubt not that you would 
find it a very pleasant chapter to discuss till the Ave Maria 
rings ! Remember, that my daughter-in-law will be an older 
acquaintance of mine than my son !” 

“ Mother ! you speak as if all were settled, and the prize 
won ! You don’t know the people on whom she is depend- 
ent ! ” 

“ I do know her ! If ever a man was blessed with the de- 
voted love of a true, brave, all-trusting, all-daring, unshakably 
constant heart, you are so blessed, my son ! ” 

“ God bless you, my own mother ! ” said Giulio, as, with his 
eyes full of tears, he stooped his head, and pressed his lips to 
his mother’s forehead. 

“ It has been arranged that I am to have an interview with 


392 


GIULIO S DIAGRAM. 


her uncle and guardian, the Canonico Adalberto Altamari, 
this afternoon. I am to be at tlie Palazzo Brancacci, in the 
Via Larga, by one o’clock ; and it is time for me to be going. 
Of course I sliall see you to-morrow ! ” 

“ Go ! and all good fortune attend you, my Giulio ! It is 

hard to part with you ! As for my future ” 

“ That, too, is another large chapter. But the Marchesa 
Malatesta, madre mia, will assuredl}'’ find that things will 
arrange themselves as she may most wish ! ” 

‘‘ Ah me ! that will indeed open a new chapter in the life 
of the Marchesa Malatesta ! ” said the Abbess, with a sigh ! 
“ But while the world is bright before you, my son, it cannot 
be very dark to me ! 

“ Adieu till to-morrow, mother dear ! ” 

The Abbess rose from her chair as he spoke, and held out 
her arms towards him ; and the mother and son were in the 
next instant locked in a long and close embrace. 

When they separated, and Giulio turned to leave the parla- 
torio, the old nun, who had somewhat prematurely waked 
from her slumbers, was standing in the middle of the room 
with open mouth and uplifted hands, speechless with horror at 
the spectacle that met her ej’es ! Giulio burst into a loud 
laugh, as he said, “ Pardon, holy sister ! we thought you were 
asleep ! ” 

It became but too clear to the old woman, that men in the 
world really were the hardened profligates she had heard ; 
worse, even, than she could have supposed ! She had no words 
to speak her feelings; and preceded him to the door of the 
convent, ringing her bell with a fury that spoke her sense of 
the doubly dangerous nature of the intruder against whom she 
was called on to warn the lambs of the sheepfold. 


CHAPTEE VI. 

GIULIO’S DIAGRAM. 

CoMiXG round the corner of the front of the little church, 
from the convent door, Giulio saw his friend luxuriously re- 


GIULIO’S DIAGRAM. 


893 


dining on the low terrace wall in the cypress shade, engaged 
in watching with apparently extreme interest the smoke from 
his cigar, as it curled up to lose itself among the branches. 

Have I kept you too long ? ’* he said. 

Kept me too long ! cried Carlo ; “ could anj^body be 
kept too long in the beatified state in whicli I have been 
revelling ! Feel this air ! look at this view ! taste this cigar ! 
listen to the hum of the insects in the silence ! smell the 
breeze from the convent garden there ! How delicious is a 
country life — till dinner-time ? 

‘‘ Are we in good time ? ’’ 

Plenty of time ! We shall be in Florence soon after mid- 
da3^ What have you to tell me ? Have you no report to 
present ? 

Birbante ! to think of your knowing all, and leading me 
here blindfold ! ” 

“I acted a lofty and rigorous impartiality that would have 
done credit to Olympian Jupiter, arranging the affairs of 
mortals. I kept your secret from her, and her secret from 
you! Was that discretion ? Was that diplomacy? Talk of 
Machiavelli, and Kichelieu, and the like I Why, they are 
bunglers, rustics to me ! Then as for the prophetic branch 
of the business — what do j'ou say now to my announcement 
that your lady mother should assist at your wedding before 
the new wine is made ? ” 

The gppes are swelling fast. Carlo ! I have found my 
mother, it is true, thanks to you ! — and such a mother I — but 
you forget how much more still lies between this and the con- 
summation you promise.” 

It will all go upon wheels, I tell you. The old Canon and 
that matchless absurdity, La Zenobia, want to marry the Al- 
tamari heiress to the Malatesta heir, don’t they? Ah, there 
is the lady herself! Whom does she want to marry ? Who 
knows but what, directly her guardians declare in your favor, 
she will fall desperately in love with the Signor Alfonso ! 
Girls a 7 'e so capricious ! That is what we have to fear ! You 
see it in that light, don’t 3^11, Signor Marchese ? ” 

“ If I had not been separated from you for the last three 
years, I should know how to roast you ! Were you ever in 
love ? ” 

“ Yes ! I’ve known what ’tis to pine I ” 

“ You look like it — very !” 


894 


GIULIO’S DIAGRAM. 


Don’t wake sleeping memories ! — or dogs ! Let ’em lie ! 
As soon as the weighing chair announced that the ravages of 
passion had reduced me below twelve stone, I made a tremen- 
dous effort, a supreme struggle with my heart, and was reward- 
ed by' rapidly winning back my thirteen stone ! Such are the 
fruits of virtue ! ” 

‘‘ But I say, Carlo niio / you were speaking just now of the 
unfortunate Alfonso, my half-brother ! What is to become of 
him ? ” 

“ Become of him ! How should I know ? He’ll go out ; 
and leave an unpleasant smell behind him, like a bad lamp, I 
should think ! Half-brother ! He can’t be a tenth part your 
brother ! You have no idea what an animal it is ! ” 

“ I have heard something of him,” said Giulio with a pass- 
ing smile, as he remembered certain passages in some of 
Stella’s letters ; “ but all the same, his position is a very shock- 
ing one ! ” 

“He did not give himself any trouble about 'i/our posi- 
tion ! ” 

“ Then, you say, he is but a sorry sort of an animal. Be- 
sides, I ^vas brought up to nothing else. His case is different. 
He fancies that he is going to marry Stella, too ! Boor 
wretch ! what a fall ! ” 

That fall will break no bones, or hearts either ! Bless 
your soul ! The little creature shook in his shoes before La 
Zenobia, and was mortally afraid of La Contessina herself. 
Nothing would have kept him from running away from his 
matrimonial campaign, but his still more mortal terror of the 
Canonico, — who is, it must be owned, rather a terrible man to 
play tricks with.” 

“ Anj^ way, he cannot be left to starve ! Some position 
must be found for him ! ” rejoined Giulio. 

“ Starve ! no ! It can’t take much to keep such a body and 
soul as that together — if he has any soul ! Che! Che ! Che ! 
all that will arrange itself easil}^ enough ! You will hardlj’- 
live at Fermo, when the old Marchese goes off! Let the Sig- 
nore Alfonso take care of the old place there ! ” 

Thus chatting, the young men reached the door of the Pa- 
lazzo Brancacci, between twelve and one o’clock, and found the 
Marchese Florimond waiting for them according to agreement. 

“Have you seen the Canonico, uncle?” asked Carlo, as 
soon as the latter had with marked cordiality greeted and 


GIUTJO’S DIAGRAM. 


895 


welcomed Malatesta, and Lad received the thanks of Giulio 
for the exertions the Marchese Brancacci had made in his 
behalf. Have you prepared the way for the projected inter- 
view ? ” 

“I have had a long, and I may he permitted to say, an im- 
portant interview with tlie Canonico Altainari. The Canonico 
will be prepared to receive my friend the Marchese Malatesta 
at any hour he may be disposed to favor him with a call after 
one o’clock. Our conversation was, as I have said, a long 
one, — naturally so, considering the highly interesting and im- 
portant nature of the communication I was honored by per- 
mission to make to him, and — and — and the numerous points 
which presented themselves for discussion. My friend the 
Marchese will naturally be interested in a detailed account of 
the manner in which — to the best of inj^ poor ability — I dis- 
charged the commission, which my gracious — with which I 
would saj', my friend the Marchese Malatesta honored me. 
And I shall have much pleasure in making such a detailed 
report at some future time of greater leisure. For the present, 
taking into consideration the anxiety which it is, perhaps, I 
may say natural, — though it is impossible to lose sight of the 
fact, that the social position of the Marchese Malatesta ” — 
(with a bow and a smile that showed a whole ratelier of 
brilliant false teeth) — “ought to put all such anxiety out of 
the question ; 3'et taking, I say, such a desire to hear the 
result of my conversation with the Signor Canonico into con- 
sideration, it ma^r, perhaps, be more agreeable to my friend 
the Marchese that I should communicate to him in an 
epitomised, and, perhaps I may be allowed to saj", condensed 
form, the substance of m3’' — I may say — ambassorial negotia- 
tions.” 

There the Marchese Florimond paused, looking from one 
to the other of the 3’oung men, with the pleased consciousness 
that he was making himself superlatively agreeable, and at the 
same time exhibiting his distinguished fitness for the highest 
and most delicate functions of diplomac3^ 

“ That’s it, uncle ! ” said Carlo, nodding encouragement. 
“ Condense highly ! and out with it ! ” 

“ I have the Marchese’s permission to be abruptly brief ? ” 
said the little man, looking vvinniugly into Malatesta’s face. 

“ Certainly ! By all means ! ” said Giulio, vv’hose torture 
on the tenter-hooks of suspense had lasted almost to the limits 
of his endurance. 


896 


GIULIO’S DIAGRAM. 


becomes my duty, then, to tell you, Signor Marchese, 
— as I trust you will believe me when I say it is my pleasure, 
— that my friend — I may indeed without impropriety say, my 
intimate friend — the Cauonico Adalberto, on liearing, not with- 
out considerable — yes ! I do not feel myself at liberty to con- 
ceal from you, without very considerable — surprise, the circum- 
stances which I was authorised to communicate to him ; and 
on having satisfied himself by an amount of cross-questioning, 
which I must take the liberty of considering, and indeed of 
calling — at least among ourselves, if the Marchese will permit 
me to say so, and on the present occasion — singularly search- 
ing and severe, that there is — to put it bluntly and in vulgar 
language — no mistake about the matter; — the Canonico 
Adalberto, I say, then, and not before, declared, that it would 
be perfectly in accordance with his views and wishes to accord 
the hand of the Contessina Stella Altimari, his ward, to my 
valued friend the Marchese Giulio Malatesta.’^ 

“ Pooh ! ’’ grunted Carlo, and ‘‘ Ah ! ” sighed Giulio, with a 
sound like that of men drawing breath after having had their 
heads under water. 

“ I think^' added the Marchese Florimond, looking inquir- 
ingly from one of the young men to the other, “ that I am 
right in conceiving that to have been — putting aside for the 
present, in consideration of the press of circumstances, all 
those minor points, of which I reserve a detailed discussion 
for a more convenient opportunity, — the main scope, and, as I 
may say, aim of my mission.’’ 

“ Plit it in the centre of the bull’s e3"e ! my dear uncle, as 
your matchless tact and skill alwaj’^s does ! And now you had 
better take Giulio at once to the Canon ! ” said Carlo. “ I 
told you it would be all plain sailing ! ” he added, turning to 
Giulio. But the injudicious observation was verj’’ near bring- 
ing down upon them another shower of the Marchese’s choicest 
rhetoric. 

Not altogether, it is perhaps right, and I may say due 
to myself to mention, such plain sailing, as you somewhat 
coarsely term it he began. 

‘‘Plain sailing with such a pilot as you, uncle ! Assuredly 
not otherwise, as I am sure Giulio is well aware. Olf with 
vou to the Canonico. I will wait for you here till you come 
back.” 

The Marchese felt himself rather unfairly curtailed iu the 


GIULIO’S DIAGRAM. 


897 


enjoyment to which he considered himself honestly entitled in 
the matter; but being thus drummed out went otf with Giulio 
without further resistance, fully purposing to indemnify him- 
self at the coming interview with the Caiionico. 

Tliey found that distinguished churchman evidently waiting 
for them in his luxuriously furnished study. 

“ Signor Canonico,” said the Marchese Florimond, as they 
entered, “ I have the pleasure, and I request that you will be- 
lieve that it is a very great 

“ Yes ! I am sure of it ! It is a pleasure also to me to make 
the acquaintance of the Marchese Giulio Malatesta,” said the 
Canon, stepping forward gracefully, and offering his hand to 
Giulio, who took it, bowing rather stiffly. 

The extraordinarj", and perhaps I may even say unparal- 
leled 

“ Yes ! indeed said the Canon, remorselessly, interrupting 
the tortured little Marchese, “ the circumstances which the 
Marchese has related to me — and clearly substantiated — are 
indeed singular. We have but to shape the course of our 
duty to them.’’ 

“ Such, I doubt not, will be the sentiments of my friend ; 
and, if I may be permitted ” 

It was evident that the Canonico had no intention of per- 
mitting anything of the sort. 

Undoubtedly 1 we must all feel alike in this matter. You, 
Signor Marchese, are a soldier, and therefore know what duti/ 
is. We — soldiers under another banner — are equally its 
bounden lieges. I had, and have a duty to perform towards 
my niece, the Contessa Stella Altamari. I deemed it for her 
welfare to contract an alliance for her with the son and heir 
of the Marchese Cesare Malatesta. I still deem it so. My 
niece is reluctant, as young girls in their inexperience often 
are, to fall in with my views. She did not fancy the gentle- 
man, who was supposed to hold the position which I considered 
a desirable one for her husband to occupy. It became my 
duty to constrain her obedience. It was a very unpleasant 
duty. She does fancy ” — (with a smile and a bow such as only 
a polished and dignified churchman can execute) — “as I am 
given to understand, the gentleman who, most unexpectedly, 
is found to be the real holder of that position. My duty be- 
comes a pleasant one.” 

“ I have the extreme happiness, then, Signor Canonico, of 


898 


GIULIO’S DIAGRAM. 


understanding that I may ask in marriage the hand of the 
Contessina Stella, with the approbation of her family ? 

‘‘ Unquestionably so, my dear sir; with the full approbation 
of her family, and 1 trust 1 need not doubt with that of yours 
also.” 

“The very remarkable circumstances which I have had the 

good fortune, and I may, perhaps, say ” once again began 

the urihappj’' Marchese Florimond ; but the Canonico Adal- 
berto was too much for him. 

“ Exactly so ! my dear Marchese ! ” he said ; “I was on 
the point of asking the Marchese Malatesta whether any com- 
munication had taken place between him and his father since 
these circumstances were brought to light ? ” 

“ Not directly between me and my father,” said Giulio ; 
“ but- ” 

“ I trust, my dear sir,” interrupted the Marchese Elorimond, 
“that you will not think I acted injudiciously in so doing; 
but, as an old, and I may say, perhaps, valued friend of the 
family into which the Marchese Alfonso was about to marry, 
I thought it advisable to let the Marchese Cesare Malatesta 
know that some singular circumstance had arisen, which 
appeared to make his immediate presence in Florence desir- 
able.” 

“ It is probable, then, that we may shortly see him here,” 
said the Canon. 

“ Besides,” said Giulio, “ the whole circumstance of the 
case will have been formally communicated to him before this 
by the legal gentlemen I employed at Bologna.” 

“ That is well ! ” said the Canonico; “you will probably,” 
he added, “think it proper to communicate what jmu have 
now done me the honor of telling me, to the Contessa Zeno- 
bia ; — and you will, perhaps, think it pleasaiit,” continued the 
Canon, smiling at his antithesis, “ to make a similar communi- 
cation to the younger lady.” 

Giulio bowed, but the Marchese gave him no chance of 
speaking. 

“ I purpose, with my friend the Marchese’s good leave,” he 
said, “ presenting him to the Contessa Zenobia this evening. 
Signor Giulio is alread}’ a well known and valued acquaintance 
in the Palazzo Altamari ; but I shall have the pleasure of pre- 
senting him now for the first time in, as I may say, his proper 
person.” 


GIULIO’S DIAGRAM. 


899 


Adieu, then, my dear sir, for the present!” said the 
Canon ; “ we shall meet again to talk our matters over more 
formally, when your excellent father shall have arrived here.” 

“ Addio, Signor Canonico ! ” 

“Well!” cried Carlo, meeting his uncle and Ciulio at the 
door, as they returned from their important visit, “ you found 
I was right in telling you there would be no difficulty, eh ? 
All went well ! ” 

“ Humph ! ” grunted the Marchese Florimond, who was by 
no means in his usual good humor, “ that animalaccio of a 
Canonico gets worse and worse ! Positively there is no bearing 
him ! A priest will be always a priest, polish him and varnish 
him as you will ! No more breeding than a peasant ! Thank 
Heaven, my dear Marchese, that when once you have married 
our Contessina, you need have nothing more to do with that 
intolerable old bore ! ” 

“ Priests will be priests ! ” said Carlo, winking at Malatesta ; 
“ but as to the business in hand, there was no difficulty, eh ?” 

“Difficulty! no, of course not! What difficulty should 
there be ? And if the old fool ” (he was not above twenty 
3' ears younger than the Marchese Florimond) “ would only 
have allowed me to state the case to him, it would all have 
been settled in half the time. But he took the words out of 
mj" mouth in the rudest manner ! interrupted me again and 
again ! and w^ent on prosing and prosing, as if he were preach- 
ing a Lenten sermon, per Jdacco, till his long-winded rigmarole 
made me positively sick ! If it had not been for the sake of 
my friend the Marchese here, I should have turned my back 
on him, and walked out ! There is nothing I abominate like 
a long-winded proser, who ivill speak, and then is so delighted 
with the sound of his own voice that he can’t bring himself to 
€top ! ” 

The little Marchese remained in happy unconsciousness of 
the whole salvo of winks with which his doleauces were re- 
ceived by his undutiful nephew. 

“This evening, then,” said Carlo, “ Giulio will make his 
proposals in due form to the Contessa Zenobia? ” 

“ If the Signor Marchese is not too much disgusted with 
the annoyances my affairs have already caused him, and will 
kindly present me to La Signora Contessa.” 

^ “ It will be a great pleasure to me to do so, my dear sir ! 

And I flatter myself — yes, I reall}" may be allowed to say I do 


400 


GIULIO’S DIAGRAM. 


flatter myself — that our interview with the Contessa Zenobia 
will be of a more agreeable, and perhaps it would hardly be 
going too far to say a more convenahle^ kind than that which 
has just passed with that ill-bred priest.” 

“ Hang him ! We’ll think no more about him ! ” said Car- 
lo. “ At what o’clock shall we be here to accompany you to 
the Palazzo Altamari, uncle ? ” 

Say at nine ! I have an engagement after dinner that I 
cannot excuse myself from.” 

At nine we will he here ! Come along, Giulio ! ” 

At the hour named the three gentlemen proceeded to the 
Palazzo Altamari, and by a little management on the part of 
the Marchese were received by the Contessa Zenobia alone in 
her boudoir. 

“ Signora Contessa ! ” said the Marchese, with an air that 
might have formed a study for the introducer of ambassa- 
dors” to Louis the Fourteenth, “I have the honor, and am 
sure you will attach to my words all their full significance 
wdien I add the great pleasure, of presenting to you the Mar- 
chese Giulio Malatesta, dei Marches! Malatesta di Fermo.” 

Giulio bowed very gracefully, and looked very handsome as 
he did so, which the Marchese Florimond felt was very credit- 
able to him, the Marchese Florimond. 

“Di’ew de ma vie ! Marquis!^’ screamed the brisk little 
lady; “ I have had the pleasure of knowing this gentleman 
before ; ancf, /oi de Biron ! it would have been a pleasure if 
he had not given us all such a deal of botheration about 
Stella! You area dangerbus man, Monsieur Mauvaisetete ! 
He ! he ! he ! positively a member of the classes dangereuses^ 
parbleu ! You go about stealing ladies’ hearts ! But you 
want to steal their hands too, which, la Sainte Vierge me 
garde ! is quite another matter. I do not know what the 
Canonico will say if he catches you here ! ” 

I am here, Gentilissima Signora Contessa,^ said Giulio, 
smiling, “ with the permission of the Signor Canonico, for 
the purpose of asking you to give me that, which you accuse 
me of wishing to steal ! ” 

With the permission of the Canonico ! Diahle ! what is 
this that our friend here the Marchese is saying? 1 thought 
that you were — you know ! — I thought you were Monsieur 
MauvaisetHe^ des MauvaisetHes, as one may say, after a 
fashion ; but he calls you the Marquis Mauvaisetete I ” 


GIULIO’S DIAGRAM. 


401 


Permit me, Ornatissima Signora Contessay^ said the 
Marchese Plorimond, with a flourish of his white hand, “ to 
explain tlie circumstances which seem to your singularly lucid 
■intelligence and unerring, discernment to involve a certain de- 
gree of difficulty, which, I may perhaps be allowed to say, 
without unduly exaggerating my meaning, almost — almost I 
say — reach the limits of inexplicability.” 

The Marchese drew breath, changed his attitude, and pre- 
pared for a new exordium. 

“ Cut along ! Marquis ! ” said the Contessa Zenobia. 

“My uncle hates long-winded prosing in others too much to 
be ever long himself! ” said Carlo, with a look at Giulio. 

“ The Marchese Malatesta, Gentilissima Signora Contessay 
whose name you so felicitously translate into the favored lan- 
guage of which jmu are so perfect and so graceful a mistress, 
is, as I have had the honor of telling you, and as I am about 
to have, if 3mu will kindly permit me, that of satisfactorily — 
3^68 ! I may sa3^ — I think I may say ; — nay, assuredly I may 
say, satisfactorily convincing 3’'ou — a3’', convincing you, no 
other than the Marchese Giulio Malatesta, dei Malatesta, the 
heir to the present Marchese Cesare, and the representative of 
that ancient and ver3'’ illustrious family.” 

And then the Marchese Plorimond, with an intense enjoy- 
ment, which really he deserved after the snubbing of the Ca- 
nonico, proceeded to tell the story he had to tell, with an am- 
plitude of that special rhetorical adornment of which he was 
so great a master, but which may be more advantageously 
perhaps, — nay, I ma3’’ surely be allowed to sa3^ certainly, — 
more advantageously left to the imagination of the reader. 
He asked special permission for the use of each epithet, 
doubted, weighed the question, and finally decided in his own 
favor, respecting the exact force of every adverb, and availed 
himself to the utmost of every periphrasis provided by the 
wordy forms of Italian courtesy. Giulio devoutl3- wished that 
the Canonico Adalberto had been there to dam the torrent, as 
he had so ably done that morning. At last, however, the 
Marchese brought his stor3' reluctantly to an end ; and the 
Contessa Zenobia, who had listened to it with unexampled pa- 
tience for her, cried : 

“ What a story ! there has been nothing like it since, the 
Conspiration des Fous contre les 3 Iedecins, that Stella was 
reading about in her histor3’- of Florence this morning! ” 

25 


402 


GIULIO’S DIAGRAM. 


Excuse me, Signora Contessa, if I confess that I see 
neitlier madmen nor physicians in this matter,’’ said the Mar- 
cliese Florimond, in considerable perplexity. 

“ What on earth has she got into that high-dried old brain 
of hers now ! ” muttered Carlo aside to Giulio ; Conspira- 
tion cles Foils contre les Medecins ! What can she mean ? ” 

“ Ah ! I have it ! ” said Giulio in the same tone. “ The 
Signora Contessa,” he went on aloud, “ is alluding to the 
Conspiracy of the Pazzi against the Medici ! ” 

“ Parbleu ! It’s clear, I think ! You and I, Monsieur le 
Marquis Mauvaisetete, understand each other, n^est ce pas ! ” 

“ There must have been a conspiracy of the kind she spoke 
of, I think, when she was allowed to go at large ! ” said Carlo 
aside to his friend. 

“ I hope sincerely that we may always do so ! ” said Giulio, 
bowing low to the Contessa. 

I am sure we shall ! Pardi ! It’s a mercy that dear Stella 
will escape that poor little apology for a man, the Marquis 
Alphonse ! I must own that the little puss knew how to choose 
for herself ! He! He! He! But you’ve given us a terrible 
time of it, you and she between you ! He ! 

C’est I’amour, I’ainour, I’amour, 

Que fait le monde h, la roiide ! 

And now I suppose you would like to see La Stellina, and tell 
her all about it.” 

So Stella, greatly wondering, was summoned from her up- 
stairs exile, and the boudoir was, contrary to all Italian prece- 
dent, left to her and Giulio, while La Contessa went to receive 
her evening habitues. 

Infinitely greater still was Stella’s surprise, when she found 
that the object for which she had been sent for on this last 
evening before her departure for the new convent, was to have 
a tete-a-tete with Giulio in her aunt’s boudoir. 

“ You have not made any promises, my Giulio ? ” said she, 
turning pale after their first passionate greeting; “you have 
not bought this interview at the price of any concessions ! ” 

“ I have made no promises, darling, save those which I am 
ready to renew to you ; and I am here to ask and not to make 
concessions ! ” 

Then he told her all the strange story, which accounted for 
his presence there, and for the change in their prospects. 


GIULIO’S DIAGRAM. 


403 


I hope it won’t make you grow like any of the other Mar- 
cheses I know,” said Stella, playfully pouting and looking 
fondly into his face the while, after the first wonder of the ex- 
traordinary tidings had been discussed, a happy tear or two 
been shed, and the new position in which Giulio stood towards 
his love had been recognised, and the rights pertaining thereto 
claimed and duly admitted. 

“ What ! not like the Marchese Florimond, for example, or 
the Marchese Alfonso ! ” said Giulio, with mock astonishment. 

“ 1 won’t call you Marchese ! ” said Stella; ‘Ghat I promise 
you ! Tell me, my Giulio, all about your mother, your dear 
mother, who was dear to me before she was dear to you ! ” 

“ Yes ! my Stella ! I know all about it ! It is written in my 
destinj*^ that no good thing shall come to me save through and 
by j^ou ! I heard of your generous, dear insistauce that my 
mother should make herself known to me ! My poor, dear 
mother ! She was so sensitively fearful ! The dread lest, 
what she then thought her equivocal position, should be a 
disadvantage to me — to us, was so paramount ! ‘ Stella in- 

sisted on it!’ she said. ‘She knew all my unhappy story, 
and yet she insisted on it 1’ Ah ! what a pleasure it was to 
put all such timid misgivings to flight for ever ! ” 

“ It must, indeed, have been a meeting to remember for 
ever, mj" Giulio ! Were you able to see her alone ? ” 

“ No 1 there was an old nun in the room all the time ! She 
went fast asleep, though. But, oh ! Stella, there happened 
the most absurd scene ! You would have laughed to such a 
degree ! ” 

“ Laughed ! I should not have guessed that there had been 
anything to laugh at 1” said Stella, opening wide her beauti- 
ful eyes. 

“ You shall judge ! But it is impossible to make you un- 
derstand the scene without acting it ! There is nothing like a 
diagram for rightly explaining positions ! ” 

“ A diagram, Giulio, what is that ? ” inquired Stella, inno- 
cently. 

“ You shall see ! We had come to the end of our mutual 
explanations, and it was time to separate, for Carlo was wait- 
ing outside the convent to take me to my interview with your 
uncle. There sat, or knelt rather, the old nun fast asleep over 
her beads — there, we will suppose, close to that door. It is a 
pity we have nobody to represent her part ! You must fancy 


404 


GIULIO’S DIAGRAM. 


her there; — quite fast asleep, you know! My mother, who 
was sitting, as it might be, just where you are sitting, got up. 
(You must stand up.) I got up, too — thus ! My mother put 
lier arms up — so ! (You must do it for the right understand- 
ing of what followed.) I, of course, caught her to my breast 
— like this. She locked me tight in her arms ! (You won’t 
catch the joke if the diagram is not complete !) — That is cor- 
rect 1 We were just ” 

“ISTo! sir! be quiet, Giulio ! One diagram is quite 
enough ! ” 

— ^just so, when looking up, we saw By Jove, the 

diagram is complete ! ” cried Giulio, bursting into a loud 
laugh. For, at that moment, as they both looked up, there 
was standing, just where the nun should have stood. Made- 
moiselle Zelie, who, not having heard anything of the sudden 
change in the Altamari politics, exhibited all the horror re- 
quisite to the due presentment of her part in Guilio’s little 
drama. Unlike the original performer, however, she did not 
stand her ground, but rushed screaming, as if the house had 
been in flames, into the adjoining room, where, fortunately, no 
strangers had yet arrived to join the Contessa Zeuobia and 
the Marchese and Carlo. 

“ Gracious Heavens ! What has happened ? WTiat is the 
matter ? ” cried the Contessa. 

“ I saw it with my eyes ! ” screamed Mademoiselle Zelie ! 

“ Mademoiselle, I beg, and if I may be permitted the use of 
such an expression, I adjure you to tell us what you have 
seen ? ” said the Marchese Florimond. 

“ Will you tell us. Monsieur de Mauvaisetete, what on earth 
is the matter?” said the Contessa, turning to Giulio, as he 
and Stella followed the outraged duenna into the room. 

“Evidently something which Mademoiselle Zelie has never 
seen before!” said Giulio, looking at Carlo with a laugh in 
his ejm. 

“ He was only showing me a diagram, aunt ! ” said Stella, 
very demurelj". ^ 

“ A what ! child ? ” asked the Contessa. 

“I saw him kiss Mademoiselle ! ” exclaimed the exasper- 
ated Zelie, savagely. 

“And they call that a diagram, now-a-days, do they?” 
said the Contessa Zenobia. 


CONCLUSION. 


405 


CHAPTER VII. 

CONCLUSION. 

Having followed the fortunes of Giulio Malatesta to the 
culminating point attained in the last chapter, it will scarcely 
be deemed necessary by the lads and lasses, — the virgines 
puerique,^ for whose benefit we nineteenth-century trouveres 
mainlj’^ indite our romauuts — that the sequel of them should 
be traced in detail : 

Ich babe genossen das irdische Gliick] 

Ich babe gelebt und geliebet. 

’Tis the consummation ! the Pisgah-top, from which a long- 
stretching vista of tranquil happiness, a whole promised land 
of peaceful fruition may be seen, but which shall be equalled 
in its glory by no one spot of the smiling country to be tra- 
versed. 

Not that the after-stretches of the road are not often exceed- 
ingly pleasant travelling. We don’t gallop, and bound, and 
shy, and bolt over them in a manner so interesting to others 
travelling the road. Our pleasant progress is more after 
the fashion somewhat disdainfully termed by ardent youth, 
jog-trot ; the history of which may with advantage be very 
compendiously told. 

The Marchese and Marchesa Malatesta-Altamari — (for the 
Canonico Adalberto succeeded in causing that collocation of 
the names to be adopted) — would be admitted by the most ex- 
clusive admirers of domestic felicity after our own dear island 
pattern, to be as happy a couple as the sun shines on. They 
have two children, a boy and a girl. The boy is named, 
strangely enough, as many people have thought, not Giulio, 
nor Cesare, nor Adalberto, but Pietro ; as if he were called, 
not after his relatives, but after his tutor, the Professor Pietro 
•^Varani, sometime of the University of Pisa. The little girl, 
a lovely child, is called Maddalena. 

There remains one fact of a tragic nature to be told in con- 
nection with the events that have been narrated ; a circum- 
stance which was surrounded with so much of mystery and 
strangeness, that it might of itself furnish forth the materials 


406 


CONCLUSION. 


for a story of Italian life that would not be without interest, 
but which may here be told with the utmost possible brevity, 
as a notable instance of that retribution of circumstances 
which events work out more frequently, perhaps, in countries 
less liegely subject to law than our own. 

The Marchese Cesare Malatesta never arrived in Florence. 
It was very soon proved, however, that he started from Fermo 
for the former city on the receipt of the letter from the Mar- 
chese Florimond, which the reader has seen. It appeared, 
also, that the news of the declared validity of the Bologna 
marriage had reached Fermo from Bologna, and had become 
known in the former city some days previously to the depar- 
ture of the Marchese from Fermo. That time of the re-estab- 
lishment of all the old Papal despotism, after the brief gleam 
of a better state of things, was a period of much lawlessness 
and violence. The ecclesiastical states, especially the more 
southern portions of them, were infested by numerous bands 
of desperate men, who, feeling that the world and the world’s 
law was not their friend, recurred readily to the old Italian 
remedy of brigandage. Such a band was known to be at that 
time in the mountains in the neighborhood of Fermo. When 
the two servants who were travelling with the Marchese Cesare 
came back declaring that the carriage had been stopped, and 
their master shot dead, after being robbed, by a number of 
men with crape over their faces, it was accepted as a self- 
evident fact that he had fallen into the hands of the brigands. 
Nobod}’’ ever spoke aloud any other opinion. But it was whis- 
pered, in the way such matters are, or rather were, whispered 
of in Italy, that the brothers of the Marchesa Cecilia Sampi- 
eri knew more of the matter than anybody else in Fermo, ex- 
cept tlie father confessor of that noble family ; for they were 
very religious men. 

The Marchese Giulio was called, therefore, to the enjo3mient 
of his inheritance at a much earlier day than would otherwise 
in all human probability have been the case ; a circumstance 
which was at least so far satisfactory, as that it enabled him 
and Stella to await without impatience the time when his 
wife’s inheritance should fall in ; — a day which, seeing that 
the Contessa Zenobia gave as gay a supper as ever in her 
box at the Pergola last Carnival, may very probably be still 
distant. 

The death of the Marchese Cesare, of course, also made 


CONCLUSION. 


407 


the much-wronged wife a widow. The peculiar nature of the 
circumstances of her case, and the interest at Rome of several 
influential persons, removed whatever difliculty there might 
liave otherwise been in procuring for the late Abbess of the 
Ursulines a dispensation from her vows. It is hardly neces- 
sary to say that the only value of it to her is to enable her to 
live under her son’s roof, instead of in a convent, a life almost 
as retired as that which the habit of twenty years had made 
too familiar to her to be changed without suffering. 

One annual event breaks the otherwise changeless tenor of 
her life. Every autumn she goes to pass a few weeks at the 
lovely little village of Belfiore, near Foligno. She does not 
allow either her son or his wife to accompany her in tliis an- 
nual pilgrimage to her “ Holy Places,” but is always attend- 
ed on these occasions by the much-valued tutor in the Mar- 
chese’s family, the Professor Pietro Varani. 


THE END. 


4 





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The Adopted Heir. By Miss Pardoe, author of “The Earl’s Secret,” 1 50 
Cousin Harry. By Mrs. Grey, author of “ The Gambler’s Wife,” etc. 1 50 

The Conscript. A Tale of War. By Alexander Dumas, 1 50 

The Tower of London. By W. Harrison Ainsworth. Illustrated,... 1 50 

French, German, Latin, Spanish, and Italian without a Master, 1 50 

Shoulder Straps. By Henry Morford, author of “ Days of Shoddy,” 1 50 

Days of Shoddy, and The Coward. By Henry Morford, each 1 50 

The Cavalier, and Lord Montague’s Page. By G. P. R. James, each 1 50 

Rose Foster. By George W. M. Reynolds, Esq., 1 50 

The above books are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 
Hans Breitmann’s Ballads, complete and entire, with a full glossary, $3 00 


Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of the Retail Price, hy 
X. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


4 T. B. PETESSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


WORKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

The foUoiowg books are each issued in one large octavo volume, in jpapef .. 
cover, at $1.50 each, or each one is hound in cloth, at $2.00 each. 

The Wandering Jew. By Eugene Sue. Full of Illustrations, $1 60 ' 

Mysteries of Paris j and its Sequel, Gerolstein. By Eugene Sue,.... 1 50 

Martin, the Foundling. By Eugene Sue. Full of Illustrations, 1 50 

Ten Thousand a Year. By Samuel C. Warren. With Illustrations, 1 50 

Washington and Ilis Generals. By George Lippard... 1 50 

The Quaker City; or, the Monks of Monk Hall. By George Lippard, 1 50 

Blanche of Brandywine. By George Lippard, 1 50 

Paul Ardenheim ; the Monk of Wissahickon. By George Lippard,. 1 60 
The above books are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $2.00 each. 
The folloioing are each issued in one volume, hound in cloth, gilt hack. 

Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dragoon. By Charles Lever, $2 00 

Harry Lorrequer. With his Confessions. By Charles Lever, 2 00 

Jack Hinton, the Guardsman. By Charles Lever, 2 00 

Davenport Dunn. A Man of Our Day. By Charles Lever, 2 00 

Valentine Vox, the Ventriloquist. By Harry Cockton, 2 00 

NEW AND GOOD BOOKS BY BEST AUTHORS. 

The Last Athenian. From the Swedish of Victor Rydberg. Highly 

recommended by Fredrika Bremer. Paper $1.50, or in cloth, $2 00 

Comstock’s Elocution and Reader. Enlarged. By Andrew Comstock 

and Philip Lawrence. With 236 Illustrations. Half morocco, 2 00 

Comstock’s Colored Chart. Every School should have a copy of it. ...5 00 
Across the Atlantic. Letters from France, Switzerland, German}’, 

Italy, and England. By C. H. Haeseler, M.D. Bound in cloth,... 2 00 
Colonel John W, Forney’s Letters from Europe. Bound in cloth,... 1 75 
The Ladies’ Guide to True Politeness and Perfect Manners. By 
Miss Leslie, Every lady should have it. Cloth, full gilt back,... 1 75 
The Ladies’ Complete Guide to Needlework and Embroidery. With 

113 illustrations. By Miss Lambert. Cloth, full gilt back, 1 75 

The Ladies’ Work Table Book. With 27 illustrations. Cloth, gilt,. 1 50 
The Story of Elizabeth. By Miss Thackeray, paper $1,00, or cloth,... 1 50 
Life and Adventures of Don Quixote and his Squire Sancho Panza, 
complete in one large volume, paper cover, for $1.00, or in cloth,.. 1 50 
The Laws and Practice of Game of Euchre. By a Professor. Cloth, 1 00 
Whitefriars ; or. The Days of Charles the Second. Illustrated, 1 00 

HUMOROUS ILLUSTRATED WORKS. 

Each one full of Illustrations, hy Felix 0. C. Darley, and hound in Cloth. 

Major Jones’ Courtship and Travels. With 21 Illustrations, $1 75 

Major Jones’ Scenes in Georgia. With 16 Illustrations, 1 75 

Simon Suggs’ Adventures and Travels. With 17 Illustrations, 1 75 

Swamp Doctor’s Adventures in the South-West. 14 Illustrations,... 1 75 

Col. Thorpe’s Scenes in Arkansaw. With 16 Illustrations, 1 75 

The Big Bear’s Adventures and Travels. With 18 Illustrations, 1 75 

High Life in New York, by Jonathan Slick. With Illustrations,.... 1 75 

Judge Haliburton’s Yankee Stories. Illustrated, 1 75 

Harry Coverdale’s Courtship and Marriage. Illustrated, 1 75 

Piney Wood’s Tavern; or, Sam Slick in Texas. Illustrated, 1 75 

Sam Slick, the Clockmaker. By Judge Halibnrton. Illustrated,... 1 75 
Humors of Falconbridge. By j. F. Kelley. With Illustrations, ... 1 75 

Modern Chivalry. By Judge Breckenridge. Two vols., each 1 75 

Neal’s Charcoal Sketches. By Joseph C. Neal. 21 Illustrations,... 2 50 


Books sent, postage paid, on Receipt of the Retail Price, by 
T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETEBSOIT & BEOTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 5 


CHARLES DICKENS’ WORKS. 

.KS' GREAT REDUCTION IIT THEIR PRICES. 


PEOPLE’S DUODECIMO EDITION. ILLUSTRATED. 


Reduced in price f rom $2.50 to $1.50 a volume. 

This edition is j)^'inted on fine paper, from large, clear type, leaded, that 
ail can read, containing One Hundred and Eighty Illustrations on tinted 
paper, and each hook is- complete in one large duodecimo volume. 


Our Mutual Friend, ...... Cloth, $1.50 

Pickwick Papers, Cloth, 1.50 

Nicholas Nickleby, Cloth, 1.50 

Great Expectations, Cloth, 1.50 

David Copperfield, Cloth, 1.50 

Oliver Twist, Cloth, 1.50 

Bleak House, Cloth, 1.50 

A Tale of Two Cities,. ...Cloth, 1.50 
Aurerican Notes; and The Uncommercial Traveler, 
Hunted Down; and other Reprinted Pieces, 

The Holly-Tree Inn; and other Stories, 


Little Dorrit, 

Dombey and Son, 

Christmas Stories, 

Sketches by“Boz,”.... 

Barnaby Budge, 

Martin Chuzzlewit,.... 
Old Curiosity Shop,... 
Dickens’ New Stories, 


Cloth, $1.50 
Cloth, 1.50 
.Cloth, 1.5? 
Cloth, 1.50 
.Cloth, 1.50 
.Cloth, 1.50 
Cloth, 1.50 
.Cloth, 1.50 
Cloth, 1.50 
.Cloth, 1.50 
Cloth, 1.50 


Price of a set, in Black cloth, in nineteen volumes, $28.00 

Full sheep. Library style, 38.00 

Half calf, sprinkled edges, 47.00 

“ Half calf, marbled edges, 53.00 

Half calf, antique, 57.00 

Half calf, full gilt backs, etc., 57.00 


ILLUSTRATED DUODECIMO EDITION. 


Reduced in price from $2.00 to $1.50 a volume. 

This edition is printed on the finest paper, from large, dear type, leaded, 
Long Primer in size, that all can read, the whole containing near Six 
Hundred full page Illustrations, j^rinted on tinted paper, frotn designs hy 
Cruikshank, Phiz, Browne, Maclise, McLenan, and other artists. The fol- 
lowing hooks are each contained in two volumes. 


Our Mutual Friend, Cloth, $3.00 

Pickwick Papers Cloth, 3.00 

Tale of Two Cities, Cloth, J3.00 

Nicholas Nickleby, Cloth, 3.00 

David Copperfield, Cloth, 3.00 

Oliver Twist, Cloth, 3.00 

Christmas Stories, Cloth, 3.00 

The following are each complete in one volume, and are reduced in price 


Bleak House, Cloth, $3.00 

Sketches by ‘'Boz,” Cloth, 3.00 

Barnaby Budge, Cloth, 3.00 

Martin Chuzzlewit, Cloth, 3.00 

Old Curiosity Shop, Cloth, 3.00 

Little Dorrit, Cloth, 3.00 

Dombey and Son, Cloth, 3.00 


from $2.50 to 
Great Expectations, Cloth, $1.50 ] 


.50 a volume. 

Dickens’ New Stories, ...Clo'.h, $1.50 


American Notes; and The Uncommercial Traveler, Me 

Hunted Down; and other Reprinted Pieces, u’ i ao 

The Holly-Tree Inn ; and other Stories, C'oth- 1.60 

Price of a set, in thirty-three volumes, bound in cloth, 


Full sheep. Library style,. 


Ilnlfoalf. antitiue, 

Half calf, full gilt backs, etc., 


Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of the Retail Price, by 
T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


e T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS* PUBLICATIONS. 


CHARLES DICKENS’ WORKS. 


ILLUSTEATED OCTAVO EDITION. 

Reduced in price from $2.60 to $1.75 a volume. 

This edition is printed from large type, double column, octavo page, each 
book being complete in one volume, the whole containing near Six Hundred 
Illustrations, by Cruikshanic, Phiz, Browne, Maclise, and other artists. 


Our Mutual Friend, Cloth, $1.75 

Pickwick Papers, Cloth, 1.75 

Nicholas Nickleby, Cloth, 1.75 

Great Expectations, Cloth, 1.75 

Lamplighter’s Story,....Cloth, 1.75 

Oliver Twist, Cloth, 1.75 

Bleak House, Cloth, 1.75 

Little Dorrit, Cloth, 1.75 

Dombey and Son, Cloth, 1.75 

Sketches by “ Boz,” Cloth, 1.75 

Price of a set, in Black cloth, in eighteen volumes, $.31.50 

“ “ Full sheep, Library style, 40.00 

** “ Half calf, sprinkled edges, 48.00 

** “ Half calf, marbled edges, 54.00 

" ** Half cal^ antique, 60.00 

<< ** Half calf, full gilt backs, etc., 60.00 


David Copperfield, Cloth, $1.75 

Barnaby Budge, Cloth, 1.75 

Martin Chuzzlewit, Cloth, 1.75 

Old Curiosity Shop, Cloth, 1.75 

Christmas Stories Cloth, 1.75 

Dickens’ New Stories,... Cloth, 1.75 
A Tale of Two Cities, ...Cloth, 1.75 
American Notes and 

Pic-Nic Papers, Cloth, 


1.75 


“NEW NATIONAL EDITION” OF DICKENS’ WOEKS. 

This is the cheapest complete edition of the works of Charles Dickens, 
** Bdz,” published in the world, being contained in seven large octavo vol- 
umes, with a portrait of Charles Dickens, and other illu.strations, the whole 
making nearly six thousand very large double columned pages, in large, clear 
type, handsomely printed on fine white paper, and bound in the strongest 


and most substantial manner. 

Price of a set, in Black cloth, in seven volume.®, $20.00 

“ ** Full sheep, Library style, 25.00 

“ Half calf, antique, 30.00 

“ “ Half calf, full gilt back, etc., 30.1)0 


CHEAP SALMON PAPEE COVEE EDITION. 

Each book being complete in one large octavo volume. 


Pickwick Papers, 35 

Nicholas Nickleby, 35 

Dombey and Son, 35 

David Copperfield, 25 

Martin Chuzzlewit, 35 

Old Curiosity Shop, 25 

Oliver Twist, 25 

American Notes, 25 

Groat Expectations, 25 

Hird Times, 25 

A Tale of Two Cities, 25 

Somebody's Luggage, 25 

Message from the Sea, 25 

Barnaby Budge, 25 

Sketches by “Boz,” 25 


Christmas Stories, 25 

The Haunted House, 25 

Uncommercial Traveler, 25 

A House to Let, 25 

Perils of Engll.sh Prisoners, 25 

Wreck of the Golden Mary, 25 

Torn Tiddler’s Ground, 25 

Our Mutual Friend, 35 

Bleak House, 35 

Little Dorrit, 35 

Joseph Grimaldi, 60 

The Pic-Nic Papers, 50 

No Thoroughfare 10 

Hunted Down, 25 

The Holly-Tree Inn, 25 


Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings and Mrs. Lirriper’s Legacy, 25 

Mugby Junction and Dr. Marigold’s Prescriptions, 25 


Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of the Eetail Price, by 
T. B. Petersoh & Brothers, Philadelphia, Fa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 7 


CHARLES LEVER’S BEST WORKS. 


Charles O’Malley, 75 

Hurry Lorrequer, 75 

Jack Hinton, the Guardsman,... 75 
Tom Burke of Ours, 75 


Knight of Gwynne, 75 

Arthur O’Leary, 75 

Con Cregan, 75 

Davenport Dunn, 75 


Above are each in paper, or a finer edition in cloth, price $2.00 each. 
Horace Templeton, 75 1 Kate O’Donoghue, 75 

EMERSON BENNETT’S WORKS. 


The Border Rover, 1 50 

Clara Moreland, 1 50 

Viola; or Adventures in the 

Far South-West, 1 50 

The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 

The Heiress of Bellefonte, and I Pioneer’s Daughter and the 
Walde-Warren, 75 I Unknown Countess, 75 


Bride of the Wilderness, 1 50 

Ellen Norbury, I 50 

The Forged Will, I 50 

Kate Clarendon, 1 50 


WILKIE COLLINS’ BEST WORKS. 

The Crossed Path, or Basil,.... 1 50 ] The Dead Secret. 12mo 

The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 


1 50 


Hide and Seek, 75 

After Dark, 75 

The Queen’s Revenge, 75 

Mad Monkton, 50 


Sights a-Foot, 50 

The Stolen Mask, 25 

The Yellow Mask, 25 

Sister Rose, 25 


MISS PARDOE’S WORKS. 


The Rival Beauties, 75 

Romance of the Harem, 75 


Confessions of a PrettyWoman, 75 

The Wife’s Trials, 75 

The Jealous Wife, 50 

The five above books are also bound in one volume, cloth, for $4.00. 

The Adopted Heir. One volume, paper, $1.50 ; or in cloth, $1 75 

The Earl’s Secret. One volume, paper, $1.50; or in cloth, 1 75 

MRS. HENRY WOOD’S BOOKS. 

Oswald Cray, 1 50 

Verner’s Pride, 1 60 

Lord Oakburn’s Daughters ; or, 

the Earl’s Heirs, 1 

Squire Trevlyn’s Heir ; or, 

Trevlyn Hold, 1 

The Castle’s Heir; or. Lady 
Adelaide’s Oath, 1 50 


50 

50 


George Canterbury’s Will, 1 50 

Roland Yorke, 1 50 

The Channings, 1 50 

Red Court Farm, 1 50 

Elster’s Folly 1 50 

St. Martin’s Eve, 1 50 

Mildred Arkell, 1 50 

Shadow of Ashlydyat, 150 • , , r d-i -- v 

Above are each in paper cover, or each one in cloth, for $l./o each. 

The Mystery, 75 ] A Life’s Secret, 50 

Above are each in paper cover, or each one in cloth, for $1.00 each. 

The Lost Bank Note, 75 

Foggy Night at OlTord, 25 

Wiliinra Allair 25 

A Light and a Dark Christmas, 25 

MISS BRADDON’S WORKS. 

Aurora Floyd 75 I The Lawyer’s Secret, 25 

For Better, For Worse, 75 | 

Books sent., postage paid, on receipt of the Retail Price, by 
T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


Orville College 

.... 50 

The Runaway Match, 

50 

The Lost Will 

.... 50 

The Haunted Tower, 

.... 50 


8 T, B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS, 


ALEXANDER DUMAS’ WORKS. 


Count of Monte Cristo, 1 50 

The Iron Mask, 1 00 

Louise La Valliere, 1 00 

Adventures of a Marquis, 1 00 

Diana of Mericlor, 1 00 

The Three Guardsmen, 75 

Twenty Years After, 75 

Bragelonne; the Son of Athos, 75 
A Tale of War, 1 


Memoirs of a Physician, 

Queen’s Necklace, 

Six Years Later, 

Countess of Charney, 

Andree de Taveruey, 

The Chevalier, 

Porty-five Guardsmen, 

The Iron Hand, 

The Conscript. A Tale of War, 1 60 Camille, “ The Camelia Lady,’ 

Love and Liberty. A Tale of the Frencli Revolution of 1792 

The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 eacb. 


Edmond Dantes, 75 

Felina de Chambure, 75 

The Horrors of Paris, 75 

Tlie Fallen Angel, 75 

Sketches in France, 75 

Isabel of Bavaria, 75 

Count of Moret, 50 | George, 


Man with Five Wives, 

Twin Lieutenants, 

Annette, Lady of the Pearls,.... 

Mohicans of Paris, 

The Marriage Verdict, 

The Corsican Brothers, 

50 1 Buried Alive, 


GEORGE W. M. REYNOLDS’ WORKS. 


1 00 
1 00 
1 00 
1 00 
1 00 
1 00 
75 
75 
1 50 
1 50 


75 

75 

60 

60 

50 

50 

25 


Mysteries of Court of London,.. 1 00 

Ruse Foster. Sequel to it, 150 

Caroline of Brunswick, 1 00 

Venetia Ti’elawney, 1 00 

Lord Saxondale, 1 00 

Count Christoval, 1 00 

Rosa Lambert, 1 00 

The above are each in paper cover 

The Opera Dancer, 75 

Child of Waterloo, 75 

Robert Bruce, 75 

Discarded Queen, 75 

The Gipsy Chief, 75 

Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots,... 75 
Wallace, the Hero of Scotland, 1 00 

Isabella Vincent, 75 

Vivian Bertram, 75 

Countess of Lascelles, 75 

Loves of the Harem, 75 

Ellen Percy, 75 

Agnes Evelyn, 75 


Mary Price, 1 00 

Eustace Quentin, 1 00 

Joseph Wilmot, 1 00 

Banker’s Daughter, 1 00 

Kenneth, 1 00 

The Rye-House Plot, 1 00 

The Necromancer, 1 00 

or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 

The Soldier’s Wife, 75 

May Middleton, 75 

Duke of Marchmont, 75 

Massacre of Glencoe, 75 

Queen Joanna; Court Naples, 75 

Pickwick Abroad, 75 

Parricide, 75 

The Ruined Gamester, 50 

Ciprina; or, the Secrets of a 

Picture Gallery, 50 

Life in Paris, 50 

Countess and the Page, 60 

Edgar Montrose, 60 


EUGENE SUE’S 

Wandering Jew, 1 50 

jMysteries of Paris, 1 50 

Martin, the Foundling, 1 50 

Above in cloth at $2.00 each. 


Life and Adventures of Raoul De Surville,. 


GREAT WORKS. 

First Love, 

Woman’s Love, 

Female Bluebeard, 

Man-of-War’s-Man, 


60 

50 

50 

50 

25 


MADAME GEORGE 


Consuelo, 75 

Countess of Rudolstadt, 75 

First and True Love, 75 

The Corsair, 50 

Jealousy, paper, 1 50 

Do. cloth, 1 75 


SAND’S WORKS. 

Fanchon, the Cricket, paper,... 1 00 

Do. do. cloth,... 1 50 

Indiana, a Love Story, paper,. 1 50 

Do. do. cloth,... 1 75 

Consuelo and Rudolstadt, both 
in one volume, cloth, 2 00 


1^ Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of the Retail Price, by 
T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETEESON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 9 


HUMOROUS AMERICAN WORKS. 

Beautifully illustrated by Felix 0. G. Barley. 


Major Jones’ Courtship, 

Major Jones’ Travels, 

Bimon Suggs’ Adventures and 

Travels, 

Major Jones’ Chronicles of 

Pinoville, 

Polly Peablossom’s AVedding,.. 
Mysteries of the Backwoods,... 

Widow Rugby’s Husband, 

Big Bear of Arkansas 

Western Scenes; or, Life on 

the Prairie, 

Streaks of Squatter Life, 

Pickings from the Picayune,... 

Stray Subjects, Arrested and 

Bound Over, 

Louisiana Swamp Doctor, 

Charcoal Sketches,.. 

Misfortunes of Peter Faber,.... 
Yankee among the Mermaids,.. 

New Orleans Sketch Book, 75 


Drama in Pokerville, 75 

The Quorndon Hounds, 75 

My Shooting Box, 75 

Warwick Woodlands, 75 

The Deer Stalkers, 75 

Peter Ploddy, 75 

Adventures of Captain Farrago, 75 

Major O’Regan’s Adventures,.. 75 

Sol. Smith’s Theatrical Appren- 
ticeship, 75 

Sol. Smith’s Theatrical Jour- 
ney-Work, 75 

The Quarter Race in Kentucky, 75 

Aunt Patty’s Scrap Bag, 75 

Percival Mayberry’s Adven- 
tures and Travels, 75 

Sam Slick’s Yankee Yarns and 

Yankee Letters, 75 

Adventures of Fudge Fumble,. 75 

American Joe Miller, 60 

Following the Drum, 50 


75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 


Henrietta Temple,, 

Vivian Grey, 

Venetia, 


D’ISKAELI’S WORKS. 


60 

75 

50 


Young Duke, 

Miriam Alroy, 

Contarina Fleming,, 


50 

60 

50 


FRANK FAIRLEGH’S WORKS. 

Frank Fairlegh, 75 I Harry Racket Scapegrace, 75 

Lewis Arundel, 75 1 Tom Racquet, 75 

Finer editions of above are also issued in cloth, at $1.75 each. 

Harry Coverdale’s Courtship, 1 60 | Lorrimer Littlegood, 1 50 

The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 


C. J. PETERSON’S WORKS. 


The Old Stone Mansion, 

.... 1 50 

1 Kate Aylesford, 

1 50 

The above are each in paper cover 

, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 


Cruising in the Last AVar,... 
Valley Farm, 

... 75 ’ 

,...’ 25 

1 Grace Dudley ; or, Arnold at 

1 Saratoga, : 

50 

JAMES A. 

MAITLAND’S WORKS. 


The Old Patroon, 

The AA^atchmao, 

... 1 50 

Diary of an Old Doctor, 

Sartaroe, 

1 50 
1 50 

Tho AA^anderer, 

The Lawyer’s Story, 


The Three Cousins, 

1 50 


The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 


WILLIAM H. MAXWELL’S WORKS. 

Wild Sports of the West, 75 J Brian O’Lynn, 75 

Stories of Waterloo, 75 I 


Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of the Retail Frioe, by 
T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


10 T. B. PETEESON & BEOTHEES’ PXTBIICATIONS. 


WILLIAM HAEEISON AIMSWOETH’S WOEKS. 


Life of Jack Sheppard, 

Life of Guy Fawkes, 

50 

75 

Tower of London, 

Miser’s Daughter, 

1 

1 

50 

00 

Above in 1 vol., cloth, $1.75. 


Above in cloth $1.75 each. 



Court of the Stuarts, 

75 

Life of Grace O’Malley, 


50 

Windsor Castle, 

75 

Life of Henry Thomas, 


25 

The Star Chamber, 

75 

Desperadoes of the NewWorld, 


50 

Old St. Paul’s, 

75 

Life of Ninon De L’Enclos,.... 


25 

Court of Queen Anne, 

Life of Dick Turpin, 

60 

Life of Arthur Spring, 


25 

50 

Life of Mrs. Whipple and Jes- 



Life of Davy Crockett, 

60 

see Strang, 


25 

G. P. R. JAMES’S BEST BOOKS. 



Lord Montague’s Page, 

1 60 

1 The Cavalier, 

1 

50 

The above are each in paper 

cover 

, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 



The Man in Black, 

Mary of Burgundy, 

75 

1 Arrah Neil, 


75 

75 

1 Eva St. Clair, 


50 

DOW’S PATENT SERMONS. 



Dow’s Patent Sermons, 1st 


Dow’s Patent Sermons, 3d 



Series, $1.00; cloth, 

1 50 

Series, $1.00; cloth, 

1 

50 

Dow’s Patent Sermons, 2d 


Dow’s Patent Sermons, 4th 



Series, $1.00; cloth, 

1 50 

Series, $1.00; cloth, 

1 

50 

SAMUEL C. WARREN’S BEST BOOKS. 



Ten Thousand a Year,. ..paper. 

1 50 

j Diary of a Medical Student,... 


76 

Do. do. cloth. 

2 00 



a. K. PHILANDEE DOESTICKS’ WOEKS. 



Doesticks’ Letters, 

1 50 

I The Elephant Club, 

1 

50 

Plu-Ei-Bus-Tah, 

1 50 

1 Witches of New York, 

1 

50 

The above are each in paper 

cover 

, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 



GREEN’S WORKS ON GAMBLING. 



Gambling Exposed, 

1 50 1 

1 The Reformed Gambler, 

1 

50 

The Gambler’s Life, 

1 50 1 

Secret Band of Brothers 

1 

50 

Above are each in paper cover, or each one in cloth, for $1.75 each. 


' MISS ELLEN PICKERING’S WORKS. 



The Grumbler, 

Marrying for Money, 

75 

Who Shall be Heir? 


38 

75 

The Squire 


38 

Poor Cousin, 

60 

Ellen Wareham, 


38 

Kate Walsingham, 

50 

Nan Darrel, 


38 

Orphan Niece, 

50 




CAPTAIN MARRYATT’S WORKS. 



Jacob Faithful, 

50 

Newton Forster, 


50 

Japhetin Search of a Father,.. 
Phantom Ship 

50 

King’s Own, 


60 

60 

Pirate and Three Cutters, 


50 

Midshipman Easy, 

60 

Peter Simple, 


50 

Pacha of Many Tales, 

50 

Percival Keene, 


50 

Frank Mildmay, Naval OfScer, 
Snarleyow, 

50 

Poor Jack 


60 

50 

Sea King, 


50 


1^ Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of the Betail Price, by 
T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETER SON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 11 


MRS. GREY’S CELEBRATED NOVELS. 

Cousin Harry, i 50 | The Little Beauty, i 50 

The above are^each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 

The Baronet’s Daughters, 60 


A Marriage in High Life, 60 

Gipsy’s Daughter, 60 

Old Dower House, 60 

Belle of the Family, 60 

Duke and Cousin, 60 

The Little Wife, 60 

Lena Cameron, 60 

Bybil Lennard, 60 

Manoeuvring Mother 60 


J. F. SMITH’S WORKS. 


The Usurer’s Victim; or, 
Thomas Balscombe>i 75 


50 


Young Prima Donna, 

Hyacinthe, 25 

Alice Seymour, 25 

Mary Seaham, 75 

Passion and Principle, 75 

The Flirt, 75 

Good Society, 75 

Lion-Hearted, 75 


Adelaide Waldegrave; or, the 
Trials of a Governess, 75 


REVOLUTIONARY TALES. 


The Brigand, 

Ralph Runnion, 

Seven Brothers of Wyoming,.. 

The Rebel Bride, 

The Flying Artillerist, 

Wau-nan-gee, 


60 

50 

50 

60 

50 

60 


Old Put; or. Days of 1776,, 

Legends of Mexico, 

Grace Dudley, 

The Guerilla Chief, 

The Quaker Soldier, paper,, 
do. do. cloth,, 


60 
60 
60 
75 
1 60 
1 75 


T. S. ARTHUR’S 

The Lost Bride, 50 

60 

50 

50 

60 

50 


The Two Brides, 

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With nine original Illustra- 


Six Nights with the Washingtonians. 

tions. By Cruikshank. One volume, cloth $1.75; or in paper, ...$1.50 
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75 

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. 59 

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75 

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. 50 

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75 

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50 

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75 

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. 60 

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M au - 0 f- W a r’s - M ao 


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75 

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75 

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75 

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50 

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1 

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Revolution, 

Jdysteries of Florence, 

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. 60 
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1 

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Twenty Years After, 75 

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Child of Waterloo, 76 

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75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

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60 

50 

60 

50 

50 

60 

50 

50 

60 

50 

50 

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